


Love me blue

by frenchkiss



Series: dusted in gold [2]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Makeup, Paris (City), Rimming, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-15
Updated: 2016-04-15
Packaged: 2018-06-02 10:58:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 79,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6563536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frenchkiss/pseuds/frenchkiss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis Tomlinson loves milky tea, a strong contour, the Paris skyline, and Harry Styles. Just not necessarily in that order.</p><p>(Or, Harry’s a supermodel, Louis’s a make-up artist, and the sky is the fucking limit.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. No Money No Honey

**Author's Note:**

> this entire thing was an accident
> 
> okay, seriously though. I'm so excited to be writing for the 1dbigbang, especially since I had to drop out last year. a million and one thank yous to the mods for organising this!!
> 
> there's a million and one people i want to thank, so the thank you post can be found on my tumblr **here**
> 
> art for this fic can be found [here](http://softpopstars.tumblr.com/post/142860598493/i-will-buy-you-the-new-urban-decay-palette), [here](http://softpopstars.tumblr.com/post/142860202848/harry-artwork-by-the-amazing-louwie-based-on) and [here](http://softpopstars.tumblr.com/post/142860379008/hello-he-says-with-an-awkward-smile-waving-at), thanks to the absolutely amazingly wonderful **Skye/[louwie](http://louwie.tumblr.com/) ** on tumblr. I’m so honoured my lil fic got taken on by such an incredible talent and I am so grateful for all the time and effort you put into these beautiful drawings<3
> 
> obvious disclaimer: i do not own one direction, i'm not a make-up artist or a model, and this is a work of pure fiction
> 
> this work is also a sequel (of sorts) to a fic I posted almost a year ago. the first part is only 20k and while this isn't super linked and can be read as a stand alone, there are links to the original fic that might make it an easier read. that fic can be found **[here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4463273)**

_*_

_“Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage” – Lao Tzu_

_*_

“Will you stay the fuck still?”

Harry rolls his eyes and sticks his tongue out at Louis, and Louis digs his elbow into the soft pudge of Harry’s tummy in retaliation. Harry yelps and nearly ends up throwing Louis to the floor, just about managing to catch him in the nick of time.

It’s a miracle they ever get anything done, _honestly._

“That _hurt,_ ” Harry whines, but he doesn’t get the chance to say anything more before his face is assaulted with a huge, fluffy powder brush. If his eyes were open, he’d see Louis rolling his own.

“Well, maybe if you just stayed still,” Louis replies haughtily. “Honestly, how am I meant to give you cheekbones if you’re twitching?”

“I had to scratch,” Harry pouts. Louis tuts, swapping his powder brush for a smaller one, then reaches for his blush palette. He takes a moment to choose which shade will compliment Harry’s look best, eventually settling on a soft peachy one, then dips his brush in it, tapping away any excess.

“Do you think professional models break character when they have to scratch?” he drawls. “What on earth would Kate Moss say?”

“She would probably ask why on earth I’m letting some angry little pixie put make-up on me at half seven in the morning on a Saturday,” Harry retorts. “I know that I, a professional model, am also wondering the same thing.”

Louis snorts. He really loves to wind Harry up about everything to do with modelling, partly because it’s one of his favourite hobbies to wind Harry up anyway, but also because sometimes he can’t quite get his head around the fact that he’s dating someone who models for a living. He shouldn’t doubt it, because he knows how beautiful Harry is (he does wake up to him every morning, has done for practically four whole years now) and he knows how well Harry can wear his clothes, whether it be a tailored suit, a pair of sinful jeans, or even a rough old hoodie and a pair of joggers on Sunday mornings. His boyfriend has always been a sight to behold, but now they’re actually getting somewhere in both their careers and it’s quite exhilarating to know they’re both becoming successful after all these years of wondering why they bothered.

However, even though he’s done make-up on many a professional model, been paid by the BBC to lead their make-up team for their latest period drama, and graduated top of his class at Cosmetology school, he’s still got a lot to learn.

Hence he’s here, at seven thirty-six on a Saturday morning, practicing a new look (ombre blush and lips) on his boyfriend’s face. It’s winter and the sun isn’t even close to being up yet, so he has to practice under their shitty electric lights (not like their flat is dingy and dark at the best of times).

There’s just one corner of their living room where Louis gets amazing light, and he ended up roping Liam into helping him rearrange the whole room once he’d realised this. Their sofa is now at a rather odd angle, and everyone who comes to visit is forever stubbing their toes on it but Louis has the perfect little set up to practice. He loves it.

This afternoon, he’s got to present this new look to the staff at Lanvin (fucking _Lanvin_ ), and if he pulls it off, they’re going to put him on their permanent books and take him on as a full-time artist. It’s a lot of pressure, and ordinarily Louis himself wouldn’t be awake at all this time on a Saturday, but needs must. He’d elbowed Harry out of bed with the promise of a good, long blow job to say thank-you, and now here they are.

“You’re doing this because you love me,” he answers, puckering his lips and making squelching kissy noises.

“And to get my dick sucked.”

“And to get your dick sucked,” Louis sighs. “But mainly because you love me?”

“Do I?” Harry hums aloud, tapping his chin a few times as he pretends to think about it. “I don’t recall.”

“If you want to go near my arse ever again, I swear to god…” Louis starts to grumble, but Harry smirks and wraps a gentle hand around Louis’s wrist, tugging him onto his lap. He gets a pink smudge of powder across the arm of his sleep t-shirt, but he pays it no mind.

“Hey,” he says softly, leaning forward enough to peck Louis just once on the lips, quick and soft. “Don’t be so pouty. Do you have any idea how bloody proud I am of you?”

Louis squirms and looks down at the mole on one of Harry’s collarbones. He wants to lick it and not answer because he’s always been complete rubbish when it comes to praise from Harry. “No,” he mumbles after a second. “No, you never said.”

Just because it makes him rubbish doesn’t mean he’s not a sucker for it.

“I am the proudest,” Harry tells him, and there’s a sternness to it that makes Louis glower with pride but also want to squirm away because how can one person be so proud of you? “You literally… Jesus, Lou, you’re going to wow their fucking socks off today and you’re gonna be the best make-up artist the world has ever seen one day, I just know it.”

“Shut up,” Louis mumbles, hiding his face in Harry’s neck. “You have to say these things.”

“I’d be saying them even if I didn’t,” Harry hums, and yeah, Louis is in love. “Now give me another kiss before you put that lipstick on me.”

Normally, Louis would sigh and pretend that kissing Harry was some kind of hardship, but today he’s just so jittery and nervous that he practically throws them both off the chair in his bid to get his lips on Harry’s. Harry kisses back with a smile, strong arms holding Louis to him easily, and by the end of it Louis’s lips feel swollen and puffy. He squawks when he pulls back and looks at Harry’s, any soppiness or panic apparently forgotten as he shrills, “how am I meant to put lipstick on those? Fuck, Harold, put me down _now_ , I need lip scrub.”

He flaps out the room dramatically, but they both know Louis’s just a bit shit when it comes to being serious and never knows the right words to say, so he tends to go for the sarcastic, over the top shouting route. He knows Harry can see right through this, but there are times when he’s grateful his boyfriend just lets him be.

Even now, digging through the bathroom for a lip scrub he probably doesn’t have, Louis knows he doesn’t have to say it for Harry to know how important his words are to him. It’s always been that way for the pair of them, from back when they were both pissing about through university, to when they were making serious decisions about their lives together, to when they both took every penny of savings they both had and pooled them together in order to buy their dingy little flat in Elephant and Castle. Harry’s always been the older of the two in many ways, taking care of the finances and repairs and stuff because Louis’s complete shit at maths, or sorting out schedules for them both (and reminding Louis regularly that no, they can’t spend all day in bed just fucking, we both have shit to do and it’s a _Tuesday_ ). But Louis’s always there, helping in whatever ways he can, and yeah, they might be slightly louder ways than normal, but who even cares for normal these days?

Some would argue that it’s not normal for a lad his age to be as obsessed with make-up as he is. But for him it’s not an obsession, it’s a fascination, and something he loves enough to make a career out of. It’s more than just a few pots of pigment or pans of powder – it’s art as far as Louis is concerned. It’s making people feel a million dollars in just a few short steps. It’s experimentation of the highest order. It’s having _fun._  And it’s also (maybe selfishly, maybe not) something that he loves because he’s really rather good at it.

Who knew that one class learning how to do costume make-up at university would change his entire life around?

In short, Louis Tomlinson is going to take over the make-up game today, he _is._ He’s going to conceal and contour and blend so well that Lanvin have to hire him, and he’s going to get that internship he’s worked almost his whole adult life so. And even though he’s not going to say it’s _all_ down to Harry, a lot of it is down to Harry. They’re a team and Louis would hate to do this without him.

So with that in mind, he grabs some product or other from their bathroom cupboard (not lip scrub, but whatever. _Semantics)_ and goes and crawls back into Harry’s lap, where he attacks him with more eyeshadow and lip products until they both absolutely have to leave.

He comes home about nine hours later buzzing out of his skin, then spends the night licking the most expensive champagne they can afford out of the dip of Harry’s collarbones, paying special attention to his favourite mole.

He’s in. And this is only the very beginning.

*

In a way, Louis’s quite grateful that his and Harry’s careers took off in tandem. When Harry was first spotted by the talent scout they were both still in university, and now it’s been eighteen months and he’s doing amazingly well for a young, talented model. His first job modelling for Topman was a great beginning, because it helped in getting his name out there, and then the fact that there were modelling scouts for some huge name companies sitting in the audience was just the icing on the cake.

That was also the day that Louis had been spotted, even though neither of them saw it coming and were actually in the midst of a huge fight when Harry took to the runway. And yes, okay, perhaps Louis had been a little foolish and taken advantage of Harry’s trusting nature when he’d decorated Harry’s eyelids with lots of purple glitter, but hey, it had worked. He doesn’t let himself regret it, and thankfully neither does Harry, even though Louis hadn’t seen him that angry in a long time.

That was just before Christmas, and now it’s late March and things have really picked up for the pair of them work-wise. Harry’s got several more photoshoots coming up over the next few weeks for summer catalogues and billboards, and even though Louis missed February’s London Fashion Week, he’s got meetings and practice sessions galore, prepping him and a couple of other young interns for London Fashion Week in September. They’ve made it clear that, for the time being, they’re only prepping them for the local one (no point in sending amateurs overseas to work Paris or Milan, which Louis supposes is fair enough) but there is potential in all three of them. He’s the only male, which doesn’t surprise him, but the other two girls – Danielle and Gracie – are lovely, super talented, and they’ve become fast friends.

His internship likes to keep him on his toes, and it’s not uncommon for him to be given a make-up assignment to complete over a weekend where he’ll have to come up with a look to go along with a certain suit or dress that Lanvin want to showcase, but he revels in it. All his friends accepted years ago that sometimes they just have to be Louis’s guinea pig.

“I can’t _just_ practice on one face,” he always says when his mates ask him about it, and tonight is no different. “I need variety.” He narrows his eyes. “Even if only one of you gives me the chance to practice on darker skin, but _anyway._ ”

“You’re welcome,” Zayn calls from across the table, his mouth full of chips. Louis grins and raises up his pint.

“So what’s your newest look going to be?” Perrie asks excitedly. Louis loves Perrie and her enthusiasm, so he turns to her and pretends that everyone else at the table doesn’t look a bit bored.

“Well, I’ve got to devise a look that brings a pop of colour to an LBD look,” he explains. “I’m thinking though, I should keep the colour fairly minimal, work a strong brow and contour, then a bright red lip. I don’t think you can beat a bright red lip.”

“I don’t even know what half those things you just said mean,” Liam confesses from his other side, so Louis throws a balled up napkin at him.

“I have contoured you before,” he drawls. “But you’ve got the brows all on your own.”

“Is that a good thing?” Liam wonders aloud, rubbing his index finger over them curiously.

“It’s good for you, but not when I need to practice,” Louis says, voice dripping with a sarcastic sweetness. “Luckily for you and me, your girlfriend’s brows are exceptional, and as such she’s my first point of call for brow practice.”

“Aw, cheers, Lou,” Sophia says from Liam’s other side, clinking her glass against his. “You have very nice eyebrows too.”

“I should hope so,” Louis laughs. He sits back in his chair and then turns his head, looking for where Harry’s disappeared to, spots him at the bar. “Let me tell you, Harold over there has got such bushy fuckin’ brows, but I’m not allowed to bring my tweezers anywhere near them, apparently.”

“Doesn’t he have to get them plucked for shoots and stuff?” asks Liam.

“Yeah, but he even when I’m doing his make-up I get batted away,” Louis says with a pout. “Honestly, sometimes you just need to pluck some stray hairs before you blend.”

“Poor lad,” Liam mutters. Louis flips him off, then leans happily into Harry’s side as he slides back into the booth, setting a fresh pint down for Louis in front of him. “Louis here was just insulting your eyebrows, Haz.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Louis scoffs, but Harry just snorts and squeezes Louis’s shoulder.

“He hates my eyebrows, what can I do?” he says, throwing his free hand up in the air. “But there’s no way in hell I’m letting him near my eyebrows after what happened last time.”

“What happened last time?” Perrie asks, swatting at Louis from across the table. “You didn’t tell us you’d done something?”

“When has he not done something?” Harry says dryly, then kisses a pouting Louis on the cheek. “He just got a little too tweezer happy, that’s all.”

“They grew back,” Louis scowls. “And anyway, you couldn’t tell for ages, could you?” He settles back and folds his arms with a smug smirk. “I am wicked with an Anastasia Brow Wiz, I will have you all know.”

“I had to go to shoots with two halves of an eyebrow,” Harry carries on. “I tried to make out like I’d had to have them plucked like that for a previous shoot, but my portfolio isn’t _that_ big.” He pats Louis on the head, which makes Louis scowl again. “Lucky for me, my baby _is_ a wiz with a brow pencil.”

“That’s not… that’s what it’s called,” Louis sighs, necking the last of his old pint before resting his head on Harry’s shoulder. Everyone else is either catcalling or cooing at Harry and he flips them all off. “You’re all dicks.”

“And you’re Harry’s _baaaby,_ ” Zayn laughs, reaching across and poking Louis in the cheek. Louis hits him. “ _Ow._ ”

“I am two years older than you,” Louis says, ignoring the way Zayn is rather dramatically rubbing his hand in favour of poking Harry in the chest. “If anything, you are my baby.”

“This is not an argument I am going to sit through,” Liam says, covering his ears. Louis just sighs and slurps at his lager. “You two are fucking gross.”

“Hey,” Harry says, pretending to be affronted, but this argument happens nearly every time they all go out drinking together. “It’s not my fault Louis’s so short and is automatically…”

“Excuse you,” Louis squawks, pulling away from Harry and shifting up the booth towards Liam. “You are fucking dumped, mate. I’m not fucking short, I am…”

“You are not five nine,” the entire table choruses in unison, then they all burst out laughing. Louis hates literally all his friends, except Niall. Niall is wonderful and Louis misses him.

“I miss Niall,” he announces with a scowl. “Niall would never treat me this way. Why does Ireland have to be so far away?”

“Niall would be at the forefront of the teasing and you know it,” Sophia crows.

“Now, now, leave my baby alone,” Harry drawls before tugging Louis back under his arm. Louis doesn’t put up much of a fight. “Just let him dream.”

“You know what,” Louis shouts over the cackles and jeers, “when I become rich and famous, none of you will be invited anywhere. Especially not _you._ ”

“That’s a filthy lie,” Harry says, and pulls a funny face. “I am your sweetheart, your angel face, the love of your…”

“You’re dumped,” Louis says firmly, crossing his arms.

“At least then Louis won’t wake you at arse o’clock in the morning to paint your eyelids,” Zayn points out. Harry hums an agreement, nods, then takes a huge slurp of Louis’s pint.

Louis hates his friends and he hates his boyfriend, but he supposes they do have a point.

They end up staying in the pub until last orders, at which point Harry’s had one too many glasses of Merlot and Louis really needs a wee. They end up dashing home in the rain, running through puddles and using Harry’s expensive leather satchel as a poor substitute for an umbrella. They’re giggling as they clip up the stairs, bodies pressed as close as they can be while they both rummage for their keys at the same time, hips bumping as they try to slide them into the lock.

Louis hurries straight for the loo when they get inside, stripping off his wet jumper and dropping it on the bathroom floor. When he comes back out Harry’s naked save for a pair of socks. Louis grins.

“Hey there,” he says, going for coy but he ends up having to cover his mouth as a hiccup escapes. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

Harry matches his grin and walks across their bedroom to join him, resting cold hands on Louis’s bare hips once he’s within reach. “You’re warm,” he says in response, then pulls his half-dressed boyfriend into a clumsy hug. “It’s a shame you dumped me, you know. We could be having such great sex right now.”

Louis snorts and turns them around so they both topple onto the bed, Harry on the bottom and him straddling him as best he can. Harry yelps in surprise but manages to keep a hold on Louis enough to join their lips together once they’ve stopped bouncing up the mattress.

“We can still have great sex,” Louis mumbles against his mouth, pushing himself up on his arms so he’s bracketing Harry in. Harry grins up at him and runs his hands up Louis’s chest. “I hear break-up sex can be pretty fab.”

“Oi, dickhead,” Harry says, expression going from merry to affronted. “That kind of talk isn’t going to get you laid.”

Louis’s still laughing. “Oh, baby,” he coos, nudging his nose against Harry’s cheek. “You know I’m only teasing.” He kisses him, the lightest brush of lips over his cheek, then down to his jaw, then ghosting across his soft mouth. “Like I know you were teasing when you said I was your baby. We all know you’re my baby.”

Harry audibly swallows. “I am your baby,” he says, light and breathy. “I’m your baby, and you’re mine.”

“Hmm,” Louis hums in response, moving up to pin Harry’s arms above his head. Harry goes easily, pliant under Louis’s touch, and they both know he could push Louis away and off him easily, but he never does. “Tell me, baby, what would our friends think if they saw you go like this?” He kisses him again. “My baby, my six foot manly, rugged, _baby_ boyfriend, all laid out and ready for me to take?” Another kiss. “Or am I still the baby? Are you going to take me tonight?”

Harry lets out something akin to a whimper. “N-no,” he breathes, then tries to move his hips up against Louis’s body. He’s already halfway to hard, and he’s sweating a little. Louis’s tempted to lick it off. “No, I’m not.”

“You’re not, are you?” Louis says slowly, gently, running a finger down the centre of Harry’s hot chest. “I’m gonna be the one taking you, aren’t I, little angel?”

“Yeah,” Harry says, not much louder than a whisper. His damp hair is sprawled across the pillow and Louis moves forward to tangle a hand in it, tugging Harry’s head up for a sloppy kiss.

“Beautiful boy,” he murmurs against the sharp angle of Harry’s jaw. “My beautiful, beautiful boy. Would never leave you, never, never, never…”

“Lou,” Harry moans, hands settling on Louis’s hips, fingernails digging into his flesh. “Lou, come on, want it.”

Louis smirks and kisses him again, then leans back and settles on top of Harry’s thighs, hands moving down to unbutton his jeans.

On nights like these, when both of them are a little alcohol-muddled and giddy with it, they tend to make it quick and dirty, one fucking the other so the headboard is smacking against their damp-stained wall and the neighbours can be heard yelling at them to shut the fuck up. Louis loves fucking Harry like this, partly because recently they haven’t had a lot of time to fuck in general, but also because Harry’s normally quite quiet in bed, all breathy moans and soft whines, but when Louis takes him like this – a little rougher than normal, hard and fast and relentless, he gets beautifully loud. _Pornographic,_ one could go so far to describe it as. He knows their group of mates did enough times when they all lived together.

They don’t bother with condoms anymore either, so it’s relatively quick and easy for him to finger Harry open before he flips him over carefully and slides into him. His pace is sloppy at first, but once he’s picked up a rhythm and he’s got Harry in a comfortable enough position that he can fuck back and meet his thrusts, it’s over pretty quickly. Harry wanks himself off in time with Louis’s thrusts and he comes all over his fist just seconds before Louis’s own climax hits him and he nearly loses his balance. He manages to pull out before his knees give way and he slumps against his pillow, rolling a still-panting Harry over and curling him under his arm even though he knows he’s probably going to leak on the bedsheets.

Oh, well. Tomorrow’s Saturday, they can change them then.

And by they, he means probably just Harry.

“That was good,” Harry snuffles into his shoulder. Louis can’t help but snort, pressing a kiss into Harry’s sweaty skin. “You fucked the tipsy right out of me.”

“Bless,” Louis pretends to coo. “God, I love you.”

“I love you too,” Harry hums sleepily. He kisses Louis’s neck then rolls over so he’s on his own side of the bed, but still facing Louis. Louis pouts. “But if I stay cuddled against you like that I’ll never go for the piss I quite desperately need.”

“Charming,” Louis says dryly, but he untangles his hand from Harry’s and watches him clunk ever so gracefully into their tiny ensuite. He’s still wearing his socks, Louis notes disbelievingly. “Oi, Haz. Can you bring my toothbrush out with you?”

“Sure,” Harry calls back over the sound of his piss hitting the toilet bowl. “Do you not need a wee though? You’re always meant to piss after sex, you know. Good for your gonads or something.”

Louis groans and pinches the bridge of his nose, pleased that Harry can’t see his smirk. “All that money on a fancy Bachelor’s of Science and you don’t even know why you’re meant to piss after sex,” he tells him. “It’s to prevent UTI’s, you idiot.”

The toilet flushes and Harry’s head appears around the corner, bottom lip jutted out. There’s a smear of toothpaste on his chin. “Hey,” he says slowly. “I got my degree in geography, not biology.”

“Don’t I know it,” Louis says, standing up and traipsing into the bathroom, where he gives Harry’s meaty hip a sharp pinch. “Come on you, budge up. I want my post-coital cuddle.”

Harry grins around a mouthful of foam, spitting it into the sink and then dropping his toothbrush into the cracked mug they use as a holder. He slides past Louis and back into their bedroom, so Louis brushes his teeth quickly and has a quick wee anyway, then flicks off the bathroom light.

“You have toothpaste on your chin,” he tells Harry as he scrabbles into bed and under the covers. Harry stretches to turn off the main light then flops back onto his pillows. Louis licks his finger and wipes it off, then settles himself against Harry’s back. “Mmm, you smell like sex.”

“I am sex personified,” Harry mumbles. Louis doesn’t need to look at his face to know he’s grinning. “I am a highly sought-after model with a gorgeous face and a lean body, according to the casting director at the last shoot.”

Louis bites back the slight hint of jealousy that shoots up his spine at the thought of someone else calling Harry gorgeous and meaning it, and instead just kisses his shoulder blade. “He wasn’t wrong, whoever said that,” he says softly. “My gorgeous boy.”

“Love you,” Harry says, drawing one of Louis’s hands up to his lips and kissing it. “Night, Lou. Saturday tomorrow, ain’t it? I can make you bacon for brekkie.”

Louis grins and rubs his nose across the back of Harry’s neck happily, any envy already forgotten because Harry loves _him_ so damn much. “I’d like that a lot,” he whispers. “Love you too, my baby.”

“I’m your baby,” Harry sing-songs quietly, tugging Louis’s arms a little tighter around him, and it’s the last thing Louis hears before he falls asleep with a content little grin on his face.

*

It’s been a long time – _too_ long, in Louis’s humble opinion – since he and Harry have both been around on a Saturday morning with nowhere else to be that day. The only thing pressing is that Louis’s got his make-up look to work on, and as Harry has a shoot on Monday they can’t order an Indian takeaway and pig out during the evening, but whatever. Louis has his boy and his bed, and that’s enough for him.

He wakes up around half ten, and it’s almost surprising to him that Harry’s still asleep next to him. Harry’s always been an early riser, but he’s had rather a busy week, what with his new workout routine, his meetings all over London regarding their new billboards, and his part-time job as a bartender running over a couple of evenings. Louis can’t wait for him to quit that job because he knows how much Harry hates it (and he also hates that he can’t go to sleep without knowing Harry got home safely), but cash has been a little tight recently.

Having said that, the contract Harry’s just re-signed with Topman comes with a pretty hefty paycheque, and Lanvin aren’t exactly paying him poorly either. Hopefully within the next couple of months they’ll be a little better off, and Louis can start feeling less guilty when he buys the branded cereal or a bunch of flowers to surprise Harry with. It’s a start, anyway.

Their little flat could really do with some help as well. It’s nothing a lick of paint and a couple of days of solid DIY won’t fix, but in all honesty neither of them can really be bothered. It’s not a very big flat – nothing more than their bedroom, the biggest room in the house, with a cramped ensuite bathroom attached, then a kitchen/living/dining area that holds little more than a sofa, an overstuffed armchair Harry fell in love with and got for free on Gumtree, a too-big telly (“for the footie,” Louis had insisted), and Louis’s little make-up corner the only notable furniture. Their oven top is cracked and their microwave never heats food properly, and Louis couldn’t even tell you the last time they defrosted the freezer but it’s _theirs._

It’s their little corner of London, their little corner of the world, and Louis would truly happily live in a shitter place if it meant he still got to live in the city with his best mates and his boyfriend and his make-up. He loves his life as it is, even if they do get their electricity shut off quite regularly because one of them forgets to pay the bill and sometimes they can’t afford to go to the pub on a Friday night because Harry’s bought something a little out of their price range for a shoot or Louis’s splurged on a new palette. That’s life, and they’ve come to accept it along with each other’s little quirks.

Harry’s really warm, sprawled on his back with the duvet ruched up to his bare chest. He’s got one arm tucked on top of the covers and the other curled around the top of Louis’s pillow, so Louis reaches out to lace their fingers and curls a little more into Harry’s side. Harry’s arm comes down easily and Louis tucks it around himself, resting his hand on Harry’s chest and teasing at the hair lightly.

“I was promised bacon, you know,” he mumbles into Harry’s nipple. He’s not really bothered – Harry does deserve his sleep, after all – but it makes him giggle all the same when Harry snuffles a little and breathes out a yawn, blowing his morning breath right in Louis’s face. “Oh, Jesus Christ.”

“And a good morning to you too,” Harry mumbles tiredly. He hasn’t opened his eyes yet. His free hand moves clumsily over towards Louis, but he can’t seem to find him and his face scrunches up in sleepy annoyance. “Oh, where are you?”

“Right here, love,” Louis says softly, then shifts a little closer, rolling over gingerly so they can meet in the middle, Louis’s back pressed up against his chest. Harry hums and then hooks his chin over Louis’s shoulder, sliding his palm down to rest on Louis’s belly.

“Hello,” he mumbles, then makes a happy noise as he rubs his nose into the base of Louis’s neck. “I’ll make you bacon in a minute.”

“I’m only teasing,” Louis grins, settling back into Harry’s warmth. “If you wanna sleep some more feel free, love.”

Harry takes a long, sleepy inhale. “Yeah, but you know I hate wasting the day just sleeping,” he moans quietly. “Plus I need to get in a workout before noon, really. Time’sit?”

“’bout eleven, I think,” Louis tells him reluctantly. He wants to stay in here until they absolutely have to leave, his aching bladder and rumbly tummy and Harry’s workout plan be fucked. “Don’t go yet though.”

“Couldn’t if I tried,” Harry says, kissing him softly. “Sooo cuddly.”

“Yeah,” is Louis’s lame reply, but he’s tired again all of a sudden and it’s just so lovely to be curled up in Harry’s embrace that he doesn’t think he really needs coherence. He just needs his boy and a kiss, and maybe bacon in a little bit.

He’s practically dozing when he feels Harry shift a little, and he whines loudly and clumsily tangles their fingers together again, loath to let Harry move. He lets out an even louder whine when Harry untangles their fingers with a sigh, kicking the covers off his long legs before he rolls out of bed.

“Staaay,” Louis cries pathetically, rolling over and giving his best puppy eyes. Harry just snorts as he reaches for his can of deodorant on top of their dresser. “Let’s have sex. That can be your workout.”

Harry laughs and bends down to give Louis a quick peck on the lips. “I wish it worked like that, darling,” he says, pulling back and wiping his lips. He’s still gloriously naked and Louis tries to grab at his bare thigh to tug him back to the mattress, but he’s too quick. “Oi, stop. I’m just gonna do, like, half an hour today, I can’t be arsed for much more.”

“What are you gonna do?” Louis asks, propping himself up on his elbows as Harry digs around in their dresser for boxers and his running gear. “How long are you gonna be?”

“I’ll probably only run about five miles, to be fair, I’m feeling lazy,” Harry says as he bundles his hair up into a bun. Louis snorts.

“Feeling lazy, my arse,” he grumbles, rolling over and shimmying the duvet higher up his body. “If you were feeling lazy you wouldn’t be leaving me, you git.”

“I love you too,” Harry sing-songs, then Louis feels the bed dip as he props his feet up on the mattress to tie his shoe. “I’ll be like forty-five minutes.”

“Forty-five?” Louis squawks indignantly. “You said half an hour half a second ago.”

“Yeah, but I’m not Usain fucking Bolt,” Harry remarks. “I’ll be home soon, sweetheart. Think of me if you jerk off.”

“I’m gonna be thinking of Liam,” Louis mumbles petulantly, then yelps when Harry flops on top of him and starts kissing him all over. “Ow, Harry, you great lump. Clean your teeth.”

“Tell me you looove me,” Harry presses, long fingers tickling up Louis’s sides. Louis tries not to squirm but it’s not really working. He’s ticklish as all hell and Harry knows it. “Promise me you’ll have a wank to the thought of me running, all sweaty and panting and…”

“Smelly?” Louis interjects. Harry rolls his eyes and kisses him again, then hops off the bed. “Get out of here, you fucking loser. Go and run and leave me here to die.”

“I can’t believe you’re so dramatic,” Harry sighs, then he leaves the room with a fleeting wave.

“You’re definitely making me bacon when you get back now,” Louis yells, but the front door slams and cuts him off mid-sentence. “ _Bastard._ ”

Harry’s gone for fifty-two minutes, and Louis is ready for blood. He’s had a wank and a shower and a grumble to himself, and now he’s sat in front of the telly, cross-legged and cross-armed with some property show playing away on BBC2. He’s wearing Harry’s favourite jumper and Harry’s favourite shorts (just to spite him for leaving him), and if he does say so himself he is looking extra cuddly today. It’s just a shame there’s nobody here to give him the cuddle.

He hears the key turn in the lock, but doesn’t make a move to greet Harry, because he knows the door will probably get stuck and Harry will have to open it again. It’s a long process these days, getting into their flat.

“Honey, I’m home,” Harry calls once he’s inside, and Louis bites back a grin when he hears him grunt as he kicks his trainers off. He pads through to the bedroom first, probably presuming Louis is still in bed, then Louis hears the clanking of the pipes as he turns on the tap.

He doesn’t see him in the flesh until about ten minutes later where he re-emerges all clean teeth and damp hair and wearing only a hoodie and a pair of old pants. He’s scratching lazily at his hip as he flops down onto their sofa, nearly upending Louis over the side. Louis tries to fight off his embrace, but he’s powerless because Harry smells really good and he’s all warm and fluffy and soft. He’s finally getting his cuddle, too.

“I went to Tesco Express for you,” Harry hums into his neck. Louis squeals happily and rolls over, taking Harry’s face between his hands and settling against the pillows to smile up at him. “I bought bacon because we didn’t actually have any, and eggs, and bread and I even splurged on Lurpack butter. I was feeling adventurous.”

“My hero,” Louis grins against his lips. “My baby.”

Harry laughs and kisses Louis a few times quickly, a few short pecks that have them both grinning. Louis wraps his arms around Harry’s neck and lets him pull him upright, then they both shuffle into the kitchen area, Harry grabbing the Tesco’s Bag for Life on the way.

“Do you want a big sandwich?” Harry asks as he starts stacking his purchases onto the kitchen counter. “Or eggy bread with bacon on the side?”

“Big sandwich with lots of runny yolk,” Louis says, rubbing his hands together before he hoicks himself up onto the counter. “And brown sauce.”

“Your wish is my command, my princess,” Harry says, pretending to bow before he turns on the grill. It clunks into life and they both pull a face. “We should probably get this fixed, you know.”

“We should probably just move flats,” Louis states matter-of-factly, but they both know they can’t; despite their increased paycheques they don’t have anywhere near the amount of money they would need for a better flat in London. “I hear Kensington is nice this time of year.”

Harry laughs. “Oh, babe. I wish we could, I really do. That’s, like, goals.”

“One day,” Louis says with a shy smile, swinging his legs up and down, “when I’m a famous make-up artist to the stars and you’re the new Kate Moss, then we’ll live in Kensington.”

“Deal,” Harry says with a giggle. “I can’t wait, babe.”

“Me neither,” Louis grins. “Can we get a water bed?”

“God, yes,” Harry says dreamily. “We’ll get a three bedroom flat, with a huge master suite for us, then a make-up room for you and one we can use as a walk-in wardrobe for me.”

“Oh my god,” Louis groans, letting his head loll back as he thinks about it. “My make-up room would be so great, fuck. Think of how many mirrors and drawers and…” He cuts himself off to smirk over at his boyfriend. “Think how much more make-up I’d need to buy to fill it.”

Harry laughs as he sets the bacon under the grill, then moves over to wrap his arms around Louis’s shoulders. Louis curls one hand into the back of Harry’s hair, the other resting loosely on his bicep. “Same with me and clothes,” Harry says. “Clothes rails all around, so many huge mirrors so I can make sure I look good from every angle.”

“As someone who has seen you from quite literally every angle, I can confirm you’re pretty damn hot,” Louis says. Harry giggles and knocks their foreheads together.

“I love you,” he says softly. “I can’t wait to have it all with you.”

“I love you too,” Louis replies gently. “And ditto. I can’t wait for us to make it. And we’re gonna make it, aren’t we, Haz?”

Harry knocks their hips together. “You are,” he promises. “You’re unbelievably talented, Lou, you know that? Like, I don’t understand anything about make-up but whenever I see you work I know how much you love it and how focused you are and how much of a perfectionist. You’re just brilliant.”

“Thanks,” Louis says shyly, but he pushes Harry’s face away teasingly. “You’re very kind.”

“I’m honest, babe,” Harry laughs. “There’s no way just anyone could do what you do. You’ve got such a passion for it, I love hearing you talk about it.”

“But you just said you don’t understand it,” Louis says with furrowed brows. It’s never been an issue, really, because ultimately Louis’s still going to talk about it anyway, but Harry just shakes his head, still starry-eyed.

“Teach me,” he says with a shrug. “You should help me learn.”

“Really?” Louis asks sardonically, patting Harry on the cheek. “You want to learn about make-up?”

Harry shrugs again. “It’s not the same with, like, clothes and stuff, is it? You know what looks good on you, so you wear it. You wear what you’re comfy in and you wear what’s practical and that’s your thing. I do the same, but my taste is, um, well, perhaps a _little_ more expensive than yours.”

Louis snorts. “I am aware.” He squirms a little in Harry’s hold, very aware of how intently Harry’s looking at him. “I mean, I could show you some of the basics, you know? How to do your base, how to put lippy on, how to work out what colour to go for, that sort of thing.”

“Mmm, yes please,” Harry says with a grin. “It would be nice to know what you’re doing to your face whenever you get ready in the morning. You know, what’s worth you taking so long.”

“Oi,” Louis protests. “I do, like, super minimal make-up on myself. It takes me like twenty minutes max, you twat.”

“Teach me then,” Harry says again. “Make me understand.”

So that’s how Louis finds himself sitting cross-legged on the floor of their living room, a belly full of breakfast sandwich and a lapful of some of his favourite products and brushes. He’s commandeered two mirrors from their bedroom and bathroom, and he’s got one for himself and one for Harry so they can see what they’re doing without having to squash.

“So you start with a foundation,” Louis says simply, holding up a little bottle from one of his favourite drugstore brands. “This one is the one I use most days on myself, and it’s just to even your skin tone, give yourself a nice base to work on.” Harry nods. “But first, before we put that on, we’re going to start with a primer.”

“A what?”

“A primer,” Louis repeats, picking up a sample size tube of Benefit’s Porefessional primer. He got it in a goodie bag once and he’s never felt like he could splurge on a full tube. “This is to minimize your pores, and it also helps make your make-up stay on all day and not crease on your skin and stuff.”

“But why doesn’t it last all day anyway?”

“Babe, it’s not a load of magic potions,” Louis laughs. “It’s not indestructible. It fades and moves and creases, so we just need to give it a little bit of help in staying in place sometimes.”

“Okay,” Harry says, taking the primer from Louis and unscrewing the lid. “So how much of this stuff do I need?”

“Not that much,” Louis shrieks, snatching the tube back off Harry before he empties half the bottle onto his fingers. “Jesus Christ, that’s, like, four quid you’ve just poured onto your fucking hand.”

“ _What?”_ Harry says incredulously. “How much?”

“Lucky for you this is a sample size, but fucking hell, Harry,” Louis grumbles, taking Harry’s hand so he can collect some of the product onto his own fingers. “You’re a knob.”

“I didn’t know,” Harry whines. Louis just shakes his head. “Okay, now what?”

“Be really light,” Louis says, then starts dabbing the primer on his own face, making slightly exaggerated hand motions to show how slow and gentle Harry should be. “Just blend it into your skin really gently because otherwise you’ll waste the product and you’ll go cakey, which isn’t the look we’re going for.”

“Right, right,” Harry says, trying to mirror Louis’s motions, but Louis knows he’s going to be heavy handed and miss bits of his face, bless him. “How’s this?”

“Fine, babe,” Louis grins, squeezing his knee with his clean hand. “Is all the product off your hands now?”

“Yeah,” Harry nods.

“Right, give me the back of your hand,” Louis instructs. Harry does so, and Louis puts one pump of the foundation onto it. “This is so you can control how much you’re adding to whatever bit of your face, you see?”

“Okay,” Harry says, then goes to dip his finger into the foundation, but Louis bats it away. “What now?”

“Use this,” Louis says exasperatedly, handing over a Beauty Blender. “And do it like this.” He dabs his own sponge in his foundation and starts to bounce it into his skin, making sure it’s well blended. “You don’t want it to look like you’re wearing foundation, see? So this way, it should look a lot more natural.”

“But you always say make-up isn’t here to make you look natural,” Harry says, bouncing the sponge almost comically against his skin. Louis rolls his eyes.

“Babe, there’s a difference between, like, bold silver eyes and bright red lips looking unnatural and your base looking unnatural. You want your base to look natural, and everything else is enhanced to the max. That’s the general gist, anyway.”

“Okay,” Harry says, ever accepting. Louis grins and then reaches for his concealer. He pushes himself up on his knees and unscrews the lid, then smears the concealer underneath Harry’s eyes like he’s done a hundred times before.

“Blend that in now,” he instructs. “Basically the key to good make-up is blending. You can’t really ever do too much blending.” He sighs. “It’s where me and Lottie get into scraps with make-up mostly, because she just _never_ blends enough. And you know, not that there’s anything wrong with how she does her make-up, because if she likes the way it makes her look then that’s fine, but, like, I just want her to _blend._ ”

Harry cackles. “I take it you telling her that didn’t go down too well.”

Louis rolls his eyes. “I love her to pieces, but she’s just so bloody stubborn.” He throws his hands up. “But what can I do other than encourage perfect blending in all my make-up looks and hope she takes the hint.”

“Bless,” Harry says, then asks, “so what now after concealer?”

“You need to set everything with a powder,” Louis instructs. “Here, take this one and this big brush and just go all over your face, especially your undereyes. That needs to be set really well or else it will crease.”

Harry’s brows furrow rather adorably. “Crease?” he asks. “But I thought the primer stopped that.”

“Oh, good boy,” Louis says happily, leaning forward to give him a proud kiss. “You’re right, it does, but this just acts as, like, an extra barrier, I guess. Plus it’ll make it easy for the rest of your face make-up to sit on top.”

“Right, okay,” Harry says, then dips his brush in the powder, a translucent cloud of fallout getting all over Louis’s trackies. “And just on like this?”

“Yeah, babe,” Louis grins, doing the same to his face. “’Atta boy.”

“This is fun,” Harry notes with a grin. “And not as hard as I thought it might be.”

Louis smirks. “Oh, baby. We’re only on the easy bit. You’ve now got to bronze your face without looking like you’ve slapped yourself with the whole palette.”

“How hard can it be?” Harry scoffs, reaching for the ELF palette and angled Real Techniques brush that Louis’s chosen for the occasion. “What, so I just put bronzer on my cheekbones, right?”

Louis folds his arms and just watches. “You know what? I might just sit out on this one,” he hums. “But you’re right, yeah. Aim for your cheekbones and blend upwards.”

Tongue poking out in concentration, Harry squints right up close to the mirror as he (really quite awfully) applies bronzer to his right cheekbone. There’s no finesse to it at all, and he completely ignores Louis’s direction and ends up smearing it nearly down to his jawline. The more he fucks it up, the more forlorn he gets, and by the end of his attempt it does look rather like someone has just grabbed the compact and run it down his face.

“Louis, what the fuck?” he moans, tilting his head and whining loudly as he looks at the mess that is his cheek. “How do I fix this?”

“You don’t, darling,” Louis says, laughing as he leans back to grab his make-up wipes. “Oh, babe, I’m sorry but we’re gonna have to start again.”

“I tried,” Harry says glumly, not looking at Louis even as he crawls over and starts to gently wipe at his cheek. “I did what you said.”

“I know, sweetheart, but I really mean it when I say you have to have a light hand,” Louis says gently. “Also, it does take a lot of practice. It took me ages to get bronzing right. It’s the one bit of make-up I’ve always struggled with.”

“I’m sorry I wasted your stuff,” Harry mumbles, bottom lip jutting out. He sounds genuinely really sad, so Louis drops the wipe and shuffles forward even more so he can climb into Harry’s lap.

“Eh, it happens,” he says, tugging Harry’s arms around his shoulders so he’s being cuddled. He kisses Harry’s now clean cheek. “I don’t even want to know how much product I’ve wasted over the years on failed attempts and shite looks.” He shivers a little in Harry’s hold as Harry’s hot breath ghosts over the back of his neck in a sigh. “Baby, I’m serious. It’s fine. We can go again if you want.”

“I knew it wasn’t going to be, like, easy, but I didn’t think I’d fuck up that bad,” Harry mumbles, so quiet that Louis has to strain to hear him. “I don’t want you to be annoyed at me.”

Louis leans back against Harry’s shoulder and turns his face into Harry’s cheek, then moves his hand up to rest on the other side of Harry’s face, where he pats it a few times. “Not annoyed, you big ol’ drama queen,” he reassures. “Amused, but definitely not annoyed.”

“Maybe you should just keep to practicing on me,” Harry says, and he finally tightens his arms around Louis himself, boxing him in and pressing his nose into Louis’s soft hair. “I don’t think I’ll ever be any good, really.”

“Don’t be a prat,” Louis tells him sternly, but there’s the hint of a smile creeping at the corners of his face. “You’re fine, sunshine. You’re a bit clumsy and heavy-handed, I’ll give you that, but that’s why you’ve got me, the greatest make-up artist in all the land, to be your teacher. I’ll be very thorough.”

He can feel Harry’s grin and so he turns a little, pressing a sloppy kiss to Harry’s jaw.

“Wanna watch a film instead?”

“A bit, yeah,” Harry says, but when Louis makes the move to stand he keeps his grip firm. “I’d rather do that than make a tit of myself any more than I have.”

“You’re not a tit, you tit,” Louis sighs, rocking them from side to side gently. “You’re not very good at make-up, granted, but if you were you’d be beautiful and talented and I couldn’t match up to that.”

Harry snorts. “Are you calling me untalented?” he grumbles lowly.

“At make-up, yes,” Louis says. “It really is a case of practice makes perfect. I was so shit when I first started, you know. The thing, or shall I say the person, that made me good was you, if we’re being really sappy and gross and honest about it.”

“What?” Harry asks. “How does that work?”

Louis chuckles quietly, letting his eyes flutter shut as he thinks about him and Harry three or so years before, fresh-faced teens just starting a relationship, who only knew that they were in love with one another and that was that. That Christmas, Harry had forked out for a Naked palette for Louis, and even now Louis still remembers it as the best present he’s ever gotten. It was his first item that didn’t come from the drugstore, the one piece that he’d secretly wanted ever since he started watching make-up tutorials at night tucked under the covers on his iPad or in between lectures. And then Harry had spent nearly forty quid on that one single product for his birthday, which felt like loads when they were skint students, and they hadn’t even been going out that long. Louis still has it, probably won’t ever throw it out unless he and Harry call it quits, and it’s still his go-to palette even though he’s hit pan on half the shades and it’s probably a bit manky.

Back then, when everything was a lot more confusing and a lot less concrete, that gift had meant more to Louis than anything. Partly because Harry – young, sweet, baby-faced Harry who he loved like he’d never loved another – had bought him that present and it felt like a promise, almost; but also it was that that led onto their conversation about Louis even daring to pursue his interest in make-up in the first place. It still sticks with Louis now, just how supportive Harry had been even after only having dated a few months at that point.

Harry would follow him to the ends of the earth, and that’s scary because he didn’t think he could ever love and be loved in the way he and Harry do. It’s frightening but also invigorating, and he grips his boy a little tighter when he thinks for a split second what could have happened if he hadn’t been assigned a bedroom in Flat 7, Block 24.

“I love you a lot, you know,” he says instead of answering Harry’s earlier question. “And I’m really fucking lucky to have you. I feel like I don’t tell you enough, but, like, you’re my entire world and you make me so happy. I’m so glad I picked someone as supportive as you.”

Harry makes a pleased sound in response, nudging his nose against Louis’s cheek and kissing him on the apple of his cheek. “I love you too, angel,” he hums into Louis’s skin. Louis doesn’t want to leave his lap ever. “So much, Lou.” They pause for a second, just taking the time to hold each other, because Louis hugs and kisses him every day but it’s been a while since he’s sat with him and let himself be wrapped in a hug so tight, so all-encompassing, that he feels like he could live and die this way.

But then Harry speaks up again, voice curious and timid, almost.

“I wanna know how I helped,” he says, nudging Louis again gently. “Come on, tell me.”

“Oh, must I?” Louis pretends to whine. “It’s embarrassing and sappy and cliché and…”

“I don’t care,” Harry says. “That’s basically what we are anyway. The model and his make-up artist lover, living together in a dingy flat clinging to any chance they have to make it.”

Louis groans. “I am not a _lover;_ I am your fucking boyfriend who you were talking about proposing to not long ago.”

Harry snorts quietly. “Offer still stands, you know. I’ll propose the second you’re ready for me to.”

“Harold, I love you, I really do, but we can barely afford branded food, let alone an engagement ring.”

“Point taken,” Harry says after a pause. “But I’m serious about it, I hope you know that.”

“I know you are, treacle,” Louis says, bringing Harry’s open palm to his mouth and kissing it. “And I love you for all your gorgeous promises and sincerity and shit.”

Harry buries his face into the back of Louis’s neck, presses his lips against his skin, and blows a long, wet raspberry that has Louis yelping and ends with them rolling around on the floor wrestling until Louis’s head collides with the end of the sofa and Harry feels so guilty that he scoops him up in his arms and blows him on said sofa.

He tells Harry a little more about the whole Naked palette thing later that night, when it’s dark and he’s back in Harry’s hold, but a little less self-conscious than he was earlier because Harry’s sleepy and fucked out and only half listening, bless him. When Louis’s finished with his story he gets a kiss and a sleepy mumble of “my lovely make-up angel.”

Louis’s not going to stop giving him shit for that tomorrow, but right now he’s happy to fall again, soft and warm and happy against Harry’s chest, safe in the knowledge that Harry thinks he’s an angel.

*

The next few weeks are super hectic, but Louis’s LBD look goes down a storm with his sort-of boss, a stern but mostly lovely older lady called Keira. He’s pretty proud of himself too, but he makes an effort not to look too smug because Gracie’s look got rather shot down, and Danielle’s was greeted with a rather tight-lipped smile.

“Where did I go wrong?” Gracie whines once they’ve all been dismissed for lunch. She buries her face in her hands and nearly gets whipped cream from her huge mug of pity hot chocolate in her hair. Louis moves it into the centre of the table for her. “I spent ages working out how to get all those blues to blend so seamlessly. And fucking hell, you two both had stronger contours than me, why did she say _mine_ was too much?”

“Honestly, I think it’s because she has a crush on Louis,” Danielle says with a hint of bitterness, stirring her latte a little too vigorously. “He can do no wrong, I swear.”

“No, hang on a minute,” Louis says indignantly. He adds the smallest splash of milk to his tea then says, “The whole point is matching the look to the outfit, right?” The other two nod. “Well, what I did was take it back to the beginning. So a little black dress is classic, yeah, but it’s classic in its simplicity. So you want a make-up look that’s classic in its simplicity, if that makes sense.”

“I guess that makes sense,” Gracie says, blinking a few times. “I didn’t really think of it like that.”

“Our job, shit as it sounds, isn’t to make the make-up the star of the show,” Louis says. “With a brand like Lanvin, the focus always has to be on the clothes, doesn’t it?” The others nod. “So we’ve got to add, like, the subtleness that ties the whole look together. The focus can’t be on the make-up.” He coughs awkwardly. “Which, no offence, Grace darling, but it kind of was with that blue eye look.”

“No, no, I know,” she grumbles. “You’re making a lot of sense right now and I hate you for it.”

Louis blushes and looks down at his lunch, ripping the lid off his overpriced Starbucks salad. He’d much rather have a McDonald’s, but the busy London lunch rush and them having a Starbucks practically next door to the office leaves him with… whatever this is. “It’s only because I live with a model, I swear,” he says, stabbing at a piece of avocado. “If I didn’t have Harry and his obsession with the subtleties and stitching and shit I never would have thought of it.”

“Why is my boyfriend a fucking mechanic?” Gracie whines. “He couldn’t give less of a shit about my job.”

“Why didn’t Jade give me any kind of a warning about that?” Danielle grumbles. “She’s a fuckin’ model too.” She slurps at her coffee. “It’s pretty cool that both our partners are models, isn’t it?”

“It is,” Louis agrees with a grin. “I need to meet Jade again. I can’t believe how small this world is.”

“Innit,” Danielle agrees, cutting her panini in half. “We should go on a double date or something.”

“Um, hello?” Gracie says with a pout. “What about me? I wanna come.”

“Well, we should do it anyway,” Louis nods, looking at Dani then back to Gracie. “I’d love to meet Josh too.”

“Well, then, we should do something one evening next week,” Dani says. “It’d be nice to hang out outside of the office, get our other halves in on it too.”

“That’s settled then,” says Louis. “I’ll check with Haz about dates next week and let you know.” He wrinkles his nose. “Because trust me, you don’t wanna meet the fucker when he’s on one of his juice cleanses or doing this, like, weirdly regimented diet thing before a shoot. He’s stressed out and snappy and hungry.”

“Bless,” Dani laughs. “Jade just does, like, an odd amount of exercise videos and drinks a lot of green tea.”

“Yesterday Josh ordered like thirty quid’s worth of Domino’s and I got one slice,” Gracie chips in dryly, which makes them all laugh. “Dickhead. I don’t know why I bother.”

“Find yourself a nice model, darling,” Louis grins around a cherry tomato. “Harry lets me practice make-up on him all the time and I also get to wear St. Laurent on the regular these days.”

“So where’s Harry modelling at the moment?” Dani asks curiously. “Is he still at Topman?”

Louis nods. “Yeah, kinda. He’s dividing his time between billboard shoots for them and then he’s actually doing a little bit of runway work for Lanvin at the moment.” He sips his tea. “You know he did that really short walk at the London Fashion Week just gone?” They both nod. “Well, he’s hoping to get something a little more, um, permanent with them.”

“Ooh,” Gracie coos. “Is it looking positive?”

Louis shrugs. “I don’t know. I don’t know if he knows, if I’m honest. You know how difficult it is to tell with these things.”

“True,” Gracie notes. “The only thing I’m sure of at Lanvin is that Keira is in love with you.”

“Now, now,” Louis tuts. “Maybe I’m just bloody good.”

“Cocky git,” Dani hums. “We all know you’re the best out of us. No need to rub it in.”

Louis ducks and pretends the compliment doesn’t make him grin. He stuffs another bite of avocado into his mouth. “Awww, thanks, guys,” he says instead, swallowing then wrapping an arm around Dani’s neck, pressing a sloppy kiss onto her cheek. “I love you both, you know. You’re both crazy talented too and I’m so glad I got put with you.”

“Creep,” Dani says, batting him away, but she’s also grinning.

“But we’ll definitely have to do something next week,” Gracie says. “We should start a group chat on Whatsapp.”

“We should,” Danielle squeals, and pulls out her phone there and then. “What shall we call it?”

“Lanvin Losers,” Gracie pipes up, just as Louis says, “two gays and a redhead.”

“Fuck’s sake,” Danielle hisses, narrowing her eyes at Louis. “Why are you the worst?”

Louis smirks. “You know that’s the name you’re going for, don’t you?”

“Unfortunately,” she groans. “Right, it’s made.” She locks her phone, then her eyes go wide when the screen flashes to life with a message and she sees the time. “Oh, bollocks, time to go. Let’s go make up some more faces then, shall we?”

They trudge back to the building slowly, Louis grinning smugly all the way there.

*


	2. Champagne Pop

*****

_“All you need in this life is ignorance and confidence, and then success is sure” – Mark Twain_

 

*

It happens without Louis meaning it to. It starts off as a brilliantly hilarious drunken idea, then somehow it goes so viral that Louis isn’t sure what to make of it.

It begins one night in late April, after all eight former housemates have been at the pub and they’re all suitably tipsy but unwilling for the night to end. It’s then that Louis gets the bright idea to invite everyone back to his and Harry’s flat so they can carry on the party, and everyone readily agrees with hearty cheers and clinking glasses. They all walk the slightly longer route so they pass a Sainsbury’s Local and they stock up on crates of cider, bottles of wine, and plastic cups, because “I can’t be arsed to spend me hungover weekend cleaning up after you group of dicks” (Louis does not think this is unreasonable, even when Harry swats at his arm for it).

They settle into the small living room, Liam and Sophia calling immediate dibs on the sofa and Zayn flopping onto the armchair and pulling Perrie into his lap. Louis rolls his eyes but grabs a couple of cushions and makes himself comfortable against the wall, content to let Harry lean into his side as he sips cider lazily straight from the can.

“You’re all a bunch of cunts,” Niall says, then lets out an almighty belch. “You all knew I needed to piss, and yet you all jumped into every available seat anyway.”

“Don’t blame us, blame your girlfriend,” Zayn calls. “We just did what any group of respecting people would have done in this situation and went in every couple for themselves.”

“Wankers,” Niall scowls as he drops to the floor. Eleanor rolls her eyes and joins him. “Oi, Lou, have you got any salt for my chips?”

“You know where the kitchen is,” Louis says, gesturing to the door. Niall whines loudly. “Honestly, Neil, you should have thought about that before you sat down.”

“I am your guest,” Niall complains, but he stands up anyway. “Anyone else want anything while I’m up? Not that you deserve it, lazy arses.”

“I’d quite like a yoghurt,” Harry says, perking up from where he’s tucked under Louis’s arm. “Rhubarb, please, if we’ve got any left.”

The rest of the room, Louis included, groans. “Really, Haz?” he questions. “What kind of drunk food is fuckin’ yoghurt?”

“A healthy and nutritious snack,” Harry says with a firm nod. “I love me a yoghurt, I do.”

“Christ,” Louis mutters, but kisses the top of Harry’s head when he pouts. “You’re such a little weirdo but I love you anyway.”

“How sweet,” Harry replies, jabbing Louis in the belly button, nearly making him slosh his drink all over the carpet. “Git.”

“Hey, Lou, what’s this?” Zayn asks, interrupting their little scrap as he waves a little bottle in his hands. “I was sitting on it.”

“Zayn, you fuckwit,” Louis shrieks, shoving Harry’s arms from around him and hopping to his feet. “That’s a forty pound primer!”

“Hey, you told me you needed that forty quid for your mum’s birthday present,” Harry yells, scandalised. Louis just rolls his eyes and snatches the bottle from Zayn, glaring at them both.

“My mum’s birthday isn’t until next month,” he tuts. “You’ve been with me long enough, you should have been able to see right through that, you twat.”

“Fuck’s sake,” Harry grumbles. “I really should have.”

“Anyway, it’s a new primer I got from BECCA, I’m giving it a go,” Louis says, turning back to Zayn. “Please don’t sit on it before I get the chance to.”

“Well, don’t leave it on the bloody sofa then,” Zayn gripes. “What the fuck’s a primer, anyway?”

“It helps make for an easier base make-up application,” Harry calls, waggling his eyebrows at Louis from across the room before he winks. Louis cheers and dives back into his arms, pressing a proud, sloppy kiss to his jaw.

“You listened,” he says smugly, tugging Harry’s arm back over his shoulder and snuggling into his hold. “I _definitely_ love you.”

“Enough of all this,” Zayn demands before Harry can utter the words back. “Let’s play a drinking game or something.”

“Must we?” Harry groans. “I’ve got work tomorrow, I don’t want to die of hangover.”

“Well then, have a spoonful of yoghurt instead of a shot,” Niall says, cackling like he’s just said the funniest thing in the world. “Come on, what shall we play?”

“I have a better idea,” Perrie pipes up. “I vote we get Louis to do Zayn’s make-up.”

“Oh, what?” Zayn cries, just as Louis exclaims, “Yes, Pez!”

Perrie wiggles in Zayn’s lap happily. “I think it’d look well good.” She smirks at Louis. “Can you do it, like, proper glittery and bold and stuff?”

“Do you even need to ask, Pez?” Louis scoffs, already jumping back up and hurrying over to his make-up station.

“I didn’t consent to this,” Zayn protests weakly, but Perrie’s already off his lap and helping Louis rummage through his stash. “Wait, how glittery?”

“Purple eyes with lots of glitter,” Louis says, mostly to Perrie. “And MAC’s Heroine on his lips.”

“ _Yes,_ ” Perrie affirms excitedly. Zayn slumps in his seat and buries his face in his hands. “Babe, you’re gonna look so pretty.”

“I love doing your make-up,” Louis says merrily, trotting over and dumping his armful of products in Zayn’s lap. “You have such great natural lines. Barely need a contour or anything.”

“Is contour the cheekbone thing?” Liam asks proudly from the other side of the room. Louis snorts.

“Yes, Liam, ten points to Gryffindor.”

“Yessss,” Liam hisses, holding his hand up for Sophia to high-five. “I learned something.”

Louis tuts and turns back to Zayn. “Right, are you ready?”

“No,” Zayn moans. Louis ignores him.

“Pez, pass us that lovely forty pound primer, will you?”

With his tongue poking out between his teeth, he works diligently for fifteen minutes or so creating Zayn’s flawless base and eye look. He mostly skips over contouring, adding the lightest touch of bronze to the tops of his cheekbones, but he uses a copious amount of MAC’s Soft and Gentle and finishes off the whole look with a stark purple lip.

Once he’s done he leans back to admire his handiwork, and he has to say that given he’s a bit tipsy and the lighting isn’t great, he’s done a pretty damn good job. So good, in fact, that while Zayn’s distracted flipping everyone off and batting Perrie away, he pulls out his phone and opens the camera.

“Hey, Zayn?”

Zayn turns to him, glaring, but he still manages to capture the silvery hue of his eyelids and the champagne-coloured highlight pretty well. Although Zayn looks ready to murder him at this point he still opens up Instagram anyway, and posts the picture just as it is – no filters, no editing, nothing.

“Hashtag ladz,” he says aloud, typing away before Zayn can steal his phone. Once it’s uploaded he shoves it back into his pocket hurriedly and then drops himself back in Harry’s lap. “It really fucking suits you, Zee, I’m almost annoyed.”

“Shut up,” Zayn huffs, refusing to acknowledge Perrie’s arms around his shoulders. “You’re the worst best mate ever.”

“You love me,” Louis retorts through a mouthful of yoghurt. “Oh, come on. You have to admit you look pretty cool.”

Zayn snatches up the mirror again and uses it to examine himself from all sides. “My cheekbones do look kinda cool,” he grumbles reluctantly. “So do me lashes.”

Louis grins smugly and eats another spoonful of yoghurt.

Nobody, least of all Louis, knows just how much that Instagram upload is going to change things.

*

It’s quite surreal, setting up the tripod and the video camera and making sure there’s adequate lighting and all these little titbits for the first time. He’s methodical and careful, because while this stuff isn’t all that high-tech and expensive, he still wants to make it look as clean and clear as he can.

“Just one little video tutorial for your blog,” he mutters to himself, trying not to focus on how much he’s trembling, both inside and out. “One step by step tutorial in subtle men’s make-up and you’re good. You’re good.”

It’s been three or so weeks since he posted the photo of Zayn to his Instagram, and the amount of tweets, messages, and comments he’s still getting about it is through the roof. Although some have been pretty nasty (a lot of crude name-calling and not at all sugar-coated homophobia), the overwhelming majority have been incredibly supportive and positive, which he has to admit did take him rather by surprise. It wasn’t as if the look was subtle, but a lot of people – all genders alike – seemed to be on board with it.

He’s watched arguments break out in the comments of his Instagram photos over the reasons why make-up couldn’t be gender neutral. He’s had people argue about actors having to wear it in plays and films, and several indignant people shouting about why couldn’t they just put a dab of concealer on if they had a spot they wanted to cover? He’s had people direct message him on Twitter saying he’s encouraged them to try make-up for the first time, but most overwhelmingly of all, he’s had tonnes and tonnes of messages from young boys just saying thank-you.

Thank-you for showing them boys can look pretty. Thank-you for showing them it’s something to be proud of. Thank-you for opening the door to males in make-up, and thank-you for being so nice about it.

After the thank-yous came the requests.

_Love the look !! Can u perhaps do a more wearable one tho ?? for every day wear ??_

_Omggggg teach me ur waysss_

_Okay but i want a look w a more everyday vibe could u do it? love u btw ur an inspiration to both me and my sister_

Since he started creating his own looks, he’s been posting them to a blog, mainly for archiving purposes (though he did have a mediocre following). But now the following has increased tenfold in hardly any time at all, and Louis keeps finding his looks on other sites like Tumblr and Instagram with hundreds of likes, reblogs, and comments. It’s all happening so fast – _too_ fast – and needless to say, Louis’s feeling a little overwhelmed.

So many make-up gurus have started contacting him on social media or following his blog and Instagram, a couple even giving him shout-outs in videos. He nearly loses his shit when Jaclyn Hill tags him in a photo captioned _TommoTutorials-inspired,_ then loses it again when Michelle Phan DM’s him on Twitter to tell him how proud she is of him.

In short, Louis is absolutely over the moon, but he is also freaking the fuck out.

“You’re good,” Louis repeats to himself again. It’s just one video he’s filming here, after all – one wearable, fairly versatile make-up look for day to day wear. He’s got all his favourite products lined out in front of him – a brand new Anastasia Brow Wiz, the Urban Decay Naked Skin concealer, his trusty Naked palette, and his favourite everyday lipstick – so really he should be in his element, but right now he feels a bit like he doesn’t know where to start.

“Harry?” he calls, voice croaky. He heard him get out the shower not too long ago, so he guesses he’s not left the house yet. “Haz?”

He rearranges his products one more time before Harry tentatively knocks on the door. Louis rolls his eyes and turns in his swivel chair.

“You didn’t have to knock.”

“You said you didn’t want to be disturbed,” Harry says, lingering in the doorway. Louis shakes his head and beckons him over. “You’re not filming right now, are you?”

“Haven’t started,” Louis admits. “I’m, um, well. I’m freaking out, basically.”

“Why are you freaking out, you silly moo?” Harry asks. He moves to stand in front of Louis, gently cupping his face. He smells good, like citrus and soap. Louis wishes he’d joined him in the shower. “You don’t have to upload it, you know.”

“I know,” Louis huffs. He feels stupid and a little bit embarrassed, even only in front of Harry. “I just… I worry, you know I worry.” He looks down at his lap. “You know people are less than pleasant to loads of the people who put themselves out there on the internet and, like, I’m a bloke doing it. I feel like that’s gonna make it ten times worse for me.”

Harry sighs, thumb pressing gently into the corner of Louis’s mouth. Louis has half a mind to suck it into his mouth, pull Harry onto his lap, and distract them both with sex so he doesn’t have to do it. He knows better than to try, though, because Harry’s eyes have gone all wide and earnest and Louis knows he’s in for a pep talk.

“I don’t want to lecture you,” is the first thing he says, and Louis lets his eyes drop closed and he takes a deep breath because he just loves Harry _so_ much. “But I think you’re amazing, obviously, and I think this is going to be really good for you. Well, not only good for you but for everyone who asked you for this. You’re giving people a way to be themselves. You’re helping people who haven’t had this outlet before make it their thing. And fuck, Louis, I hope you know that for every bad fucking comment you get I’m going to be there shouting from the rooftops how bloody ecstatic I am that people are asking for your talent and how much I bloody love you.”

He says it all so fast that he’s stumbling over words and practically panting by the end of it, but the dopey grin on his gorgeous face hasn’t diminished even a little bit. “You’re a dreadful sap,” Louis tells him, wrapping a hand around his wrist and pulling him down so he can kiss him. Nothing makes him feel more relaxed than Harry’s mouth on his, that’s for sure. “I love you too, my darling.”

“I know,” Harry says, then kisses him again before straightening up. “Now I’ve gotta go and meet Liam for lunch, but you knock them dead. You contour like you’ve never contoured before.”

“I love you,” Louis yells after him as he exits the room with a floppy wave. “Please bring me back a sandwich.”

“Of course,” Harry calls back. Louis sits and just listens to him potter about for a bit, then once he hears the front door close he takes a deep breath and sits up a little straighter. He exhales, then leans forward and turns on the camera before he can lose his nerve.

“Hello,” he says with an awkward smile, waving at the lens just as awkwardly as Harry had waved at him. “My name is Louis and I’m a make-up artist.” He pauses, then huffs out an awkward laugh. “I, um, I run a blog called TommoTutorials, obviously, because that’s probably where most of you are watching this.” He laughs again, shaking his head disbelievingly. He peers at the camera lens through his fringe and rolls his eyes. “This is my first ever video, can you tell?”

He claps his hands a few times in a bid to get himself to focus. “Right, so, a few weeks ago I, um, I uploaded a picture to my Instagram of my best mate, Zayn, where I’d done his make-up with a lot of glitter and a bold lip and all that good stuff.” He waves his hand. “You’ve probably seen it. I feel like everyone has seen it by now,” he says, tittering nervously. “Anyway, I never expected as many likes and comments and people reaching out to me as that photo brought me, and I just wanna say thank you for that first of all.” He sighs. “I gained, like, nearly fifty thousand followers in a week, you guys. That’s… beyond mind-boggling, I can’t even…”

He dismisses that thought with another wave of his hand. He has a feeling he’s going to gesticulate far too much in this video. “But anyway, the point of this video isn’t to thank you guys, even though it should be because what you guys have done for me is already too much for me to get my little head around. And a lot of you, particularly you lads out there who are watching, asked for a tutorial on an everyday look for a bloke. And I’ve been rocking that look for years now, so I thought I’d give you guys a look into it.”

He scoops up a couple of the products on the table in front of him and holds them up to the camera. “Now, as I work as a make-up artist for a living I’ve obviously got quite a lot of make-up that’s from more expensive brands and these are the ones I use most days. I wanted to stay, like, as close to my actual routine as I can for this but what I will do is link a list of drugstore dupes on my blog for you if you’re a lad who wants to just try out some stuff for the first time, or if you’re anyone at all looking to start their own make-up collection.” He smiles brightly and holds up his first daily essential, a primer. “So let’s get started, shall we?”

It takes him about twenty minutes to complete his look. His look has always been simple – a simple base, a mild contour, slightly shaped brows, and a nude lip that’s pretty much the same as his natural lip colour. Once he’s finished and he’s capped the lipstick shut again, he blows an exaggerated kiss to the camera (he is almost _definitely_ gonna edit that out later) and grins.

“So that is the completed look. I hope you enjoyed watching.” He laughs again. “I hope this wasn’t too awkward for my first video.” He fluffs his fringe a little, making a mental note to also edit that bit out. “Thanks for watching, love you.” He points his finger right to the lens, suddenly feeling inspired. “Don’t let anyone tell you make-up isn’t for you, okay? Make-up is absolutely out there for everyone and anyone and there’s nothing wrong with wanting to wear it. If you feel better in make-up, wear it. If you feel like it helps accentuates your best features, wear it. If you… you know what? Just fucking wear it if you wanna wear it, it’s not a big deal.” He takes a deep breath. “I was about twenty when I realised I wanted to go into make-up, and it was a fucking scary time. But since it’s become my career and my pride and joy I decided long ago I’m gonna make it my mission to make it more gender neutral and I’m absolutely here for it. Fuck whoever tells you no. You are beautiful and you are your own person.” He finishes his rant and combs a nervous hand through his hair, then shuts off the camera before he can say anything else.

He sits there, dumbstruck and a little gobsmacked at himself, breathing heavily until he calms himself down. Once he’s reminded himself that it was, in fact, not like a live broadcast and he really has no obligation to upload this at all he gets up and goes through to the kitchen, making himself a strong cup of tea to ease his nerves.

Harry gets back around half past three, and by this point Louis’s migrated to the sofa and has chewed both his thumbnails down to the point of bleeding. There’s some black and white film playing on the telly but Louis doesn’t comment when Harry mutes it and joins him. He’s barely sat down before Louis’s clambering into his lap, and Harry readily bundles him up and kisses the top of his head lots of times in quick succession before he says anything.

“Did it go well?” he asks lowly. Louis nods.

“It went fine, I think. I’ve got the editing to do but then I’ll probably be able to upload it tonight or tomorrow, I dunno.”

“Are you just feeling a little overwhelmed, sweetheart?” Harry asks. He’s already being so sweet and gentle that Louis wants to cry a little. He _is_ overwhelmed and he’s never been more nervous to do something in his life. And while he’d normally want to push Harry away for coddling him this much, they can clearly both see how much he needs it right now, and that’s a lot to take in.

“I dunno why I’m so freaked,” he mumbles into the space above Harry’s nipple. He clenches and unclenches his fist in the fabric of Harry’s top. “I really don’t have to upload it if I don’t want to, do I?”

“Absolutely not,” Harry agrees, nodding. “And you don’t have to feel pressured into ever making another one if this is one you do wanna upload.”

Louis shakes his head, letting his eyes drop closed as his head lolls against Harry’s shoulder. “I… I wanna upload it, but I don’t want it to be, like, a big thing. I wanna upload it to YouTube and then my blog, but I’m not gonna tweet about it or anything. I just want people to find it if they want to find it and see where it goes from there, if that makes sense.”

“Yeah, course it does,” says Harry. “It’s your blog and your choice, babe. I’m just the supportive partner on the side.”

Louis swats at him. “Shut up, you know you’re more than that.”

“Let me just dote on you a bit,” Harry says haughtily before he takes Louis’s chin between his fingers and presses a light kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Do you want my help editing or anything?”

“Um,” Louis says dumbly, then shakes his head. “I’ll be alright, I think. Maybe you could watch it through before I post it.”

Harry nods. “Sure,” he agrees. “Whatever you need.” He grins. “Do you need me to make you tea?”

“Always,” Louis scoffs before his face softens into a grin. “Actually, you know what? Just come and watch the whole thing and let me know if the content is any good before I spend hours editing, will you?”

“Yeah,” Harry says, then lets Louis clamber out of his lap. Louis grabs his phone and laptop from his little make-up station and brings it back over, then he plugs his phone into the laptop and waits patiently for the file to transfer over. In the meantime, he lets Harry chat away about Liam and Sophia and Liam’s new job in IT. He snuggles under Harry’s arm and lets Harry’s nimble fingers dance through his hair as they chat before his laptop makes a tell-tale pinging sound and Louis nervously presses the space bar to make the video play.

It’s a little unnerving hearing himself on camera and watching himself do his own make-up, and he sounds squeaky and audibly nervous. Harry’s hand never leaves his hair throughout the whole thing, stroking and tightening in an almost reassuring manner every time he laughs at something Louis says.

The bit Louis’s most worried about is his little monologue at the end, and when he starts talking he feels Harry’s breath hitch. He fights the urge to turn it off, squeezing his eyes shut so he doesn’t have to watch his eyes on screen go all wild and freaky, the expression Harry’s forever teasing him about when he starts talking about something passionately. Once it’s over he stays silent, waiting for Harry to say something before he just snatches up the laptop and deletes the file.

“Louis,” Harry says eventually. Without seeing his face Louis can’t tell what he’s about to say, because he’s keeping his voice scarily neutral. “Louis, Jesus.”

“What?” Louis asks, immediately ready to jump on the defensive. “If it’s shit then you can just tell me, Harry.”

“Hey, what the hell?” Harry says indignantly. “Louis, it’s not shit. It’s not even a _little_ bit shit. You’re really fucking good.”

“Then what are you being all weird for?” Louis questions as he scrabbles to sit up. He grabs the laptop back and closes it, resting it on the coffee table. “The bit at the end – that was too much, wasn’t it?”

Harry shakes his head frantically, which takes Louis aback a bit. “Lou… like no offence to your make-up skills but that was the best bit. I love it when you’re all passionate and happy about make-up, and that was so… _god,_ it came right from your heart and you’re just so lovely and I want everyone to love you as much as I do when they watch it because all the way through all I could think about is how good you are.”

“You’re fucking with me,” Louis says flatly.

“ _No,_ ” says Harry. “Fuck, Lou, if I’m being weird then it’s only because I’m worried about how trembly you are. I’ve never seen you like this before, like, not even before our final exams or anything. I want you to be okay and I want you to know that this…” He gestures to Louis’s laptop. “This is bloody amazing.”

“Shut up,” is all Louis can think to say in response. “Shut up and stop only being nice to me because I sucked your dick last night.”

“Baby,” Harry says forlornly, “this isn’t about dick-sucking.”

“Shut up,” Louis says again, then launches himself into Harry’s arms. “Just shut up and stop being so fucking lovely.”

Harry laughs into his hair. “Baby, I’m gonna be singing your praises until I’m old and bald and we haven’t sucked each other’s dicks in years because neither of us have the knee strength anymore.”

There’s a pause and then…

“That is quite possibly the worst thing you’ve ever said to me,” Louis howls, jabbing at his ribs. “You are the literal worst. I am showing you my most vulnerable side and you’re fucking chatting away about old people sex.”

“But it got you laughing again, didn’t it?” Harry says, waggling his eyebrows. “There’s my favourite smile, see? Look, there it is again.” He prods at Louis’s mouth until Louis bites him. “ _Ow,_ uncalled for _._ ”

“You were asking for that,” Louis says snidely. He twists Harry’s nipple and the pair end up scrapping until Harry has Louis pinned underneath him, wrists wedged above his head in Harry’s strong grip.

“You’re not as clever as you think you are,” Harry says, panting.

“Charming,” Louis sneers back.

“Oh my god,” Harry huffs, tightening his grip on Louis’s arms. “You’re literally so annoying and you think you’re so good at deflecting but I’ve got you now, baby. You’re gonna have to listen.”

“I don’t have to do _shit_.”

“Listen, _baby,_ I know you hate it when I tell it to you straight, and you’re really fucking good at getting all snippy and defensive and mean when you get too many compliments in a row or whatever, but you _have_ to upload that. It’s golden, you’re golden, and we both know very well that you’re going to upload it because otherwise you wouldn’t be acting out like a toddler.”

“You don’t know me,” Louis mumbles petulantly, but he can’t stop his cheeks from flushing a dark pink. “Urgh, fine. Get off me, you fuckin’ brute, let me edit this damn video before I change my mind.”

“That’s the spirit,” Harry grins, obediently climbing off his boyfriend and sitting back against the far end of the sofa. “Want me to stick a film on while you do it?”

Louis shakes his head. “Nah, I’m gonna need the sound, aren’t I?”

“True,” Harry nods. “I’ll get out your hair then. I’ll go for a run or something.”

“You don’t have to go,” Louis says in a voice he hopes doesn’t come out too pleading. “You could make me tea and give me a foot rub instead.”

Harry grins. “Consider it done.” He pecks Louis once on the cheek, then leans over and hands him his laptop. “Here. Do it before you work yourself up again, you little menace.”

Louis kicks him (though the angle is off and it probably doesn’t hurt at all), shoots him his best fake smile, then opens up the laptop and grudgingly gets to work.

Two and a bit hours later, the video goes live. Harry holds his hand all through the uploading process and once it finishes processing, he takes Louis to bed and distracts him in the best way he knows how.

They wake up the next morning to two hundred and fifty thousand views, eighteen hundred comments, and enough feedback to make Louis’s head spin.

YouTube becomes his second job that day, and it’s possibly one of the greatest things he’s ever achieved. He’s a hit.

*


	3. Rockateur

*

 

_“Art enables us to find ourselves and lose ourselves at the same time” – Thomas Merton_

 

*

“So I’ve been doing some thinking,” Harry says one Thursday evening. He’s currently spooning chilli and rice into two huge bowls for them, and it smells absolutely incredible. Louis only got in about half an hour ago after a busy day on the set of LFW rehearsals and he’s bloody shattered.

“Dangerous,” he comments as he slides into the kitchen, now dressed a lot more comfortably in one of Harry’s old t-shirts, butter soft, and some pyjama pants with Thor on them. Harry gives him a customary snort at the age-old joke then hands him his food.

“Thinking a little about our future, you little bugger,” he says, following Louis over to the sofa. The TV is playing on mute in the background; Louis thinks it’s The One Show. “And I was thinking that maybe we could look into moving soon.”

The first mouthful hasn’t even made it to Louis’s mouth but he already feels like choking. “What?” he asks incredulously. “Wait, what?” Harry doesn’t meet his eyes, suddenly becomes very fixated in mixing his meat and rice together.  “Harry, baby, look at me. I thought… I mean, are we at that stage yet? I mean, realistically.”

“Right this very second, maybe not,” Harry mumbles. “But I… I got through the preliminary contract for my time at this year’s London Fashion Week and fuck, Lou, it’s… well, it’s really something.”

“Really something, eh?” Louis says, smiling around his fork. “Is my baby going to be a star?”

“Something like that,” Harry mutters. “They, um, they want me to play a bigger role than I thought I was going to be playing, so I’m pretty much… well, I don’t wanna say I’m the face of the male line, per se, but I’ll be…”

“Harry Edward, hold on a sec,” Louis says, dropping his fork into the bowl with a loud clang. “Are you the brilliant newcomer that everyone has been talking about? Like, literally everyone?”

Harry flushes pink. “What do you mean?”

“Oh my _god,_ ” Louis groans, half-exasperated and half-delighted. “All I’ve been hearing about for bloody days is how they’ve picked someone amazing to be the front runner.” He takes another bite of chilli but carries on talking with his mouth full. “You know, it’s been stuff like ‘he’s not all that well known but he will be’ and that kinda thing.” He shakes his head. “I can’t believe I didn’t know it was you.”

“To be fair, I didn’t know it was me,” Harry says. His voice sounds a little rough, and Louis watches his hands shake a bit as they go to scoop up another forkful. “They only asked me today.”

“Hang on a minute, hang on, rewind a sec,” Louis says. “So Fashion Week is what? Three months away. So you’ve got to start rehearsing now, is that it?”

Harry shrugs, still looking a bit nervous and uncomfortable. “I guess so. Me especially, clearly, ‘cos they never ask people this early. It’s usually not even announced until much closer to the time, or at least that’s the impression I get.”

“And you’re gonna… well, forgive me for returning to this because I wanna talk to you about this huge bloody development in your career, my lovely darling, but…” Louis sets the bowl on the coffee table and reaches forward to squeeze at Harry’s knee comfortingly. “Why do you wanna talk about moving now? Surely that’s just gonna add another huge thing into our already super complicated schedule.”

Harry doesn’t say anything for a couple of minutes. He looks down at his food so he doesn’t have to look at Louis, his mass of hair hiding his face from view. Louis knows him well enough to know he, like Louis, is very good at putting up walls when he’s nervous, so he gently nudges himself forward to tuck a ringlet behind Harry’s ear.

“Sweetheart,” he says slowly, carefully. “Hey, angel. Look at me. What’s eating you?”

Harry sighs and mumbles something Louis can’t quite make out, so Louis moves forward even further, sliding his feet under Harry’s thigh before he covers one of Harry’s hands with his own.

“Love,” he coaxes, squeezing gently. “Harry, please, you’re really worrying me now. A minute ago you wanted to move and just announced you’ve basically been promoted to the top of your game, and now…”

“I’m scared,” Harry mumbles, which stops Louis in his tracks. “I’m fucking scared, Louis.”

“Scared?” Louis repeats gently. “Scared to move or…?”

“No, scared to take on this role,” Harry huffs. He spoons a huge mouthful of food into his mouth, effectively cutting himself off, and Louis stares at him for a couple of seconds, unsure of what to say.

“Why?” he asks eventually. His own dinner is probably cold by now, but suddenly he isn’t that hungry anymore. “Why, babe? You’re so good, you know that.”

“Not that good,” Harry mutters, and cuts Louis off before he can scoff. “No, Lou, listen. This is huge, alright? I don’t really like that people are already hyping me up if they don’t know who I am, because that just amps up the pressure, doesn’t it?” He coughs into the back of his hand. Louis senses he’s still stalling. “It already feels like the biggest thing. The front runner of Lanvin, little old me? I’m literally just this lad from Cheshire, I don’t know why they’re picking me at _all._ And I’m one of the older lads but one of the models whose been there the least amount of time and it all just feels like… it’s a lot. It’s a huge responsibility.”

“Yes, but they wouldn’t have chosen you if they didn’t think you were the best for the role,” Louis tells him. “It’s a mega brand, Haz, and they want someone like you representing it. That’s amazing. _You’re_ bloody amazing, and for once I’m not the only one who can see that.” He snorts. “Just a lad from Cheshire, my arse.”

Harry cracks a weak smile. “I know, I know, and it would be a huge step up in my career – think about where I could do from there, I mean, every other brand in the fashion world will see me, practically – and the money…” He gapes at Louis. “Holy shit, Lou, the fucking money.”

Louis grins. “Can I know?”

Harry nods and sets his bowl on the floor, then shuffles into the kitchen. He comes back a few seconds later with some sheets of paper, which he hands to Louis. It looks to be a draft of his contract, and Louis scans it over quickly before his eyes settle at the number at the bottom of the page.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he breathes, his eyes darting between Harry and the page. “Harry… is this…?”

“Preliminary,” Harry says hoarsely, his face matching Louis’s disbelieving stare. “Like, that’s literally how much they’d pay me for the Lanvin show alone.”

“Oh my god,” Louis whispers.

“So you can see why I’m scared,” Harry carries on. “Because I literally can’t fuck up, Lou. Not for that price tag. Nobody will ever hire me again.”

“We both know that’s not true, babe.”

“And also,” Harry babbles on, “do you not worry that I’m gonna burn out? Like I’m twenty-three years old, but I can’t model forever, can I? So what if this is them paying me enough to cover, like, a way out?”

Louis stares at him for a couple of seconds before he says, “Harry Styles, that is quite possibly the daftest thing you have ever said to me since the time you asked me why brunch is called brunch.”

Harry looks a little offended. “Louis…”

“No, you listen to me,” Louis snaps, scrabbling forward and taking Harry’s face in his hands. He knows that Harry’s still going to try and look anywhere but his eyes, but he’s gotta start somewhere. “You are fucking _good._ Do you hear me? You’re fucking brilliant at what you do. You’re beautiful and talented and you’ve got the body of a fucking statue and the face of an angel.”

Harry’s head twitches in his grasp, and Louis watches, feeling a little smug, as his cheeks turn pink. “Shut up.”

“Never,” Louis declares loudly. “I won’t rest until you accept what I’m saying. Listen, you big dopey git, they picked you first and they picked you early because they want to secure you. You’re so talented you’re going to blow every other male model in there – and probably female too, to be fair – out the water. You’re worth every single penny on that piece of paper and more besides. You, baby love, are _good._ ”

Harry hesitates. “I guess…”

“ _Harry,_ ” Louis whines dramatically. “No, stop, babe. You know you’re good, don’t you?” After a couple of seconds, Harry reluctantly nods. “Like, I’m not gonna say I’m the most amazing make-up artist in the whole world but I’m bloody good at it. I have to be or I wouldn’t be working at Lanvin.”

“You’re the best make-up artist in the world,” Harry says earnestly, and Louis groans and lulls his head back, laughing. “Louis, come on, you are.”

“I’m not gonna deny it if you insist, darling,” Louis smirks. “I hear it out your bloody mouth enough. But anyway. Stop distracting me with shit like you tried to do with that moving house declaration.”

The tips of Harry’s ears go pink. “You got that, huh?”

“Oh, I think I know you well enough to tell when you’re being a cheeky shit,” Louis grins. “Yes, I did, babe. And I really appreciate you wanting to spend your new hefty paycheque on our dream house, but I don’t think we’re there yet, are we? If we’re being completely realistic.”

“Maybe not ourselves, but we could take out a bank loan,” Harry says with a shrug. “I dunno, I just think at this point it makes a bit more sense for us to move somewhere a bit more central with a bit more space, do you not think?”

“I do, babe, yeah,” Louis hums. His stomach rumbles loudly, which makes them both laugh, so he reaches for his bowl of lukewarm chilli and digs in again. “I would like that a lot, actually, but I didn’t think it was feasible just yet. Not with how expensive London is in general.”

“I reckon we could make it work,” Harry says, shrugging again. “I think, yeah, maybe we should probably wait until after Fashion Week, but then we could do it.”

“We could do it, couldn’t we?” Louis says, all toothy grin and bright eyes at the thought. “Imagine that, eh? Me, a genius make-up artist with a semi-successful YouTube channel, living with my supermodel boyfriend in Central London. What a life.”

“It’s the life I want,” Harry says, and suddenly things seem a lot more real, a lot more plausible. They both stare at each other for a couple of short minutes, drinking in the possibility that they could, in fact, move out of this crumbly little flat soon and both be onto bigger and brighter things.

“I’m so proud of you,” Louis croaks. “So fucking proud, Haz. You’re gonna take the world by storm, I hope you know that.”

“Not without you,” Harry says, laughing merrily, and the pair share a long, sweet kiss that they both know means he’s entirely serious.

Louis’s never doubted Harry’s words; not once, not ever. He never expected something so new and exciting to become something so terrifying, and he never expected to feel this close to losing Harry before. In hindsight, they both buggered up a bit, yet Louis is still surprised, even now, that that fight got as big and as ugly as it did.

The morning after that discussion, Harry’s out the door early for a meeting and he doesn’t come back until late that night. It’s not uncommon for one or both of them to have late nights, so Louis doesn’t think anything of it, but when this starts happening every morning and every night for the next few weeks, then Louis begins to question it.

Harry mentions to him fleetingly one morning that they want him to do some PR so he’ll be gone overnight, which Louis doesn’t really mind, of course, but Harry stays vague and then doesn’t text him all that evening. The next day, he comes back late and only gives Louis a brief kiss on the cheek before he stumbles into the shower and goes straight to bed without saying goodnight. And from then on it’s tense and odd between them for a while, and Louis is, quite frankly, baffled.

He begins to wonder why Harry never bothers to tell him where he’s going, or even gives him a warning when he’s going to be back. He worries a little more when he sees a couple of pap pictures on gossip sites and blogs of Harry and people he doesn’t recognise, and he vows to change that at the weekend and invite himself along to one of these gatherings.

Because it’s not that he’s jealous or possessive or anything like that (even though he is a bit, he can’t deny). But he and Harry tell each other everything, always have done. It became a running joke between their mates and them at one point that Harry could get asked an obscure question about his high school experience and Louis would be able to answer it perfectly, so whatever’s happening with Harry now is odd, unusual, and Louis doesn’t like it. Harry’s never been reserved about his job or his friends, especially not with him.

He hates how bitter he’s become so quickly, so in a bid not to think about it he throws himself into filming and editing. He films tonnes of videos he never expected to film, but with every new video he uploads, he gets more and more requests for hauls, recommendation videos, favourites, and new looks. So he goes for it and he stays in his corner working diligently until late at night, often missing Harry coming back home. They start crawling into bed separately and it’s just not _them._

Louis doesn’t know what to do or say, so he approaches the situation in the only way he knows how.

Which, unfortunately for both of them, is a row.

 “Where have you been?” Louis says hotly as Harry strolls in the door. It’s close to ten o’clock and Louis had texted him about whether he was going to be home for his tea, and Harry had said yes for once. He’d made veggie sausages with mash and peas because he knows it’s one of Harry’s favourites, yet three hours later it’s still sat cold on the kitchen counter while Louis’s empty plate has long since been washed up. “I thought you were coming home for seven.”

“I was,” Harry says, pulling off his coat and hanging it up by the door. He flicks the lock then rolls his shoulders, frowning a little as a bone clicks. “But then they asked me to stay for a drink with a couple of the execs and I didn’t want to say no.”

“And you didn’t think to text?” asks Louis, hands on hips. Harry sighs and runs a hand through his hair, nudging past him to get to the fridge.

“My phone’s long dead,” he says, pulling out a can of beer and cracking it open. He takes a long, graceless chug and wipes his mouth on the back of his sleeve. “I’m sorry, I mean, I figured you’d just put it under a plate and I could heat it up again when I got home.” He takes another swig. “You’ve done that fine for the past few weeks for me, Lou.”

“That’s not the point,” Louis says through gritted teeth, and yeah, okay, maybe he’s overreacting because it is only dinner, but he _hates_ it when Harry doesn’t call. “The point is I thought we were finally going to have tonight to catch up, and then we just didn’t.”

Harry sighs. “We’ll have the weekend, Lou.” Then his face falls. “Oh, shit, no, we won’t. Unless you wanna come to this party thing with me.”

Heat prickles at the back of Louis’s neck uncomfortably and it takes him a second to get his words out. “What do you mean, party thing?” He pulls down his jumper over his hands and balls them into fists. “Why weren’t you gonna take me anyway?”

“Come on, Lou, we both know you don’t really like those parties,” Harry says as though it’s no big deal. He starts to tie his hair up in a fluffy bun. “Last time we went we left at eleven, so. I didn’t think you’d want to come.”

“So you just weren’t going to mention it?” Louis asks incredulously. “You were, what, just gonna get all dressed up in a tux on Saturday night and fuck off out without inviting me?”

Harry does at least have the decency to look sheepish at that. “No,” he says slowly. “Of course I was gonna invite you.”

“Then why’s this the first I’m hearing about it?” Louis says snappily, then answers his own question before Harry can. “Oh, wait, because you never actually bother to come home these days.”

“Louis, what the fuck?” Harry cries. “That’s not fair.”

“Oh, isn’t it?” Louis hisses. “Because where were you yesterday night until eleven?”

“Work…”

“And the night before that?”

“Also work, but…”

“And the night before _that?_ ”

“Jesus, Louis, I get it,” Harry huffs. “You’re not happy with me.”

“I don’t think you do,” Louis says, and he feels silly and childish and a little like throwing something at Harry’s big stupid head. “I don’t understand, Harry. You said you were taking on the role of walking male lead at Lanvin for Fashion Week. You’ve done that, am I right?” Harry nods. “So why are you gone all the time now?”

Harry’s brows furrow. “I’ve got… they want me to do stuff,” he answers, but it sounds contrived. Louis feels his blood boil hotter. “Like networking and stuff like that, so I’m getting more known in the brand. And with other brands too.”

Louis bites at his bottom lip. “I… you’re doing stuff with other brands?”

“Not yet,” Harry admits. “But I’ve been doing some interviews for websites and blogs, and a couple of photoshoots…”

“And you didn’t think to tell me?” Louis squeaks. “You didn’t think ‘oh, maybe this is the kind of thing it would be nice to share with my boyfriend when I come home from a long day at the office’?”

“Okay, admittedly yes, but you’ve been busy too,” Harry replies weakly. “You’re always editing when I come home in the evenings.”

Louis lets out a hot, humourless laugh. “But I’m home, and it’s not exactly like I’ve got strict deadlines for my videos, is it? That’s fucking weak, Harry. Try again.”

“You… you’ve told me off for interrupting you when you’re editing videos more times that I can count,” Harry shrills. “We both have shit to do, Louis, why are you trying to make me feel bad about it?”

“Because you know exactly what I’m doing,” Louis growls. “I’m home, on my own, editing videos like some mug. You’re off gallivanting with god knows who at fancy parties that I didn’t know about. Do you know get that that’s a little suspicious?” He hits his covered fist against the doorframe a couple of times. “And no offence, _babe,_ but you know who else has a relatively big website slash blog that would love to do an interview with the illustrious Harry Styles?” He raises his eyebrows. “Or do you not even care about that anymore?”

“Of course I fucking care,” Harry shouts. “I’m your fucking boyfriend.”

“Well then, start fucking acting like it,” Louis snarls. “And buy a spare phone charger to keep in your fucking car or something.”

“I… _fine,_ ” Harry grunts. “If it’ll shut you up, I’ll buy a spare phone charger.”

“Why are you acting like I’m the one being unreasonable here?” Louis yells. “It’s like… _fuck,_ Harry, it’s like I don’t even see you or… or _know_ you anymore and it’s been two weeks.” His shoulders slump and he wishes his voice didn’t come out as small as it does when he says, “you haven’t told me you love me in nearly two weeks, Harry. You’ve never gone more than a day.”

Harry sighs again, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Of course I love you…”

“You don’t have to act like telling me you love me is a chore,” Louis spits. “Jesus Christ, Harry, I just… I wish you’d talk to me. Even now you’re being really fucking weird. Who are these people you’re going out with? What the fuck are these parties you’re going to?” He sniffs. “We work for the same company, you know, I do have at least some idea of what goes on behind the scenes.”

“It’s not even with the company though, Lou, it’s like…” He coughs, and he looks really rather ashamed. “I’m… I think after London Fashion Week I’m gonna move on from Lanvin.” Louis stares at him incredulously and when he doesn’t speak he seems to take it as encouragement to carry on. “And I’m sorry, I am sorry, because I feel like everything’s going at a million miles an hour and I don’t really know what I’m doing or whatever but I…” He pauses, nibbling at his bottom lip. _He’s going to make it bleed,_ Louis thinks to himself. “I panicked, okay? And I know that’s not an excuse or whatever…”

“You’re fucking right about that,” Louis croaks.

“ _But_ I’ve been given, like, some really terrifying choices to make,” Harry finishes, and _fuck,_ he looks so young suddenly, like the teenage lad Louis first fell in love with. Louis’s itching to reach for him but he’s still so mad. “And I really should have asked your opinion, I know that. But I know you, and I know you’d tell me to go for it because you want me to succeed so bad, and I love you for that, Louis, I really do. But I needed these decisions to be my own. Not yours, not the execs, not my new manager’s…”

Louis blanches. “You… you’ve got a new manager?”

Harry nods. “He’s called Jeff. Nice bloke. Knows loads of the best coffee shops in London and he says I’ve got the potential to become, like, a male Kate Moss type figure.”

“You’re a dick,” Louis says hotly. “So what, you’ve gone and registered yourself as Harry Styles TM outside of Lanvin, which, by the way, you’re about to walk male lead for, and you’re trying to make yourself big outside of that brand and it’s happened in two fucking weeks?”

Harry shrugs weakly. “It moved so fast, I… I want this, I think, but it’s still really surreal and it would mean... it _could_ mean loads for me, Louis.”

“I don’t think I understand,” Louis says angrily, rubbing at his eyes with sweater paws. “What are you doing? Are you just becoming, like, a model on your own terms?”

“A model and a representative for which ever brands want me,” Harry says, and then he even has the audacity to chuckle. “You know, Glenne said I could sing quite well so I might even release an album…”

“Who the fuck is Glenne?” Louis snarls.

“Jeff’s partner, fucking _hell,_ ” Harry says, holding his hands up in defence. “She’s a really lovely lady, I think you would like her.”

“Shame you never had any intention of me meeting her then, isn’t it?” says Louis haughtily, hands on hips. “I’m still… I can’t believe you didn’t tell me any of this. I feel… _Harry._ Why didn’t you tell me any of this?”

“I told you already,” Harry yells. “Because it’s my thing and I’m not sure how I’m dealing with it yet. I just… I just need some time to get my head around it all.”

Louis hugs his arms around himself defensively. “Really? Because from where I’m standing it looks really fucking suspicious that my boyfriend hasn’t told me _any_ of his new life developments. _Really_ fucking suspicious, Harry.”

“Because they’re not your business yet, Louis,” Harry snaps. “It’s my life, butt out.”

Louis takes a step back like he’s been slapped, and when his back hits the doorframe harder than he’d expected he feels tears prick at his eyes. “Well, if you don’t want me to care about it then maybe you should just fuck off,” he screams. “Go on, fuck off out of here. Go to your new friends and fucking leave me here.”

All the colour drains from Harry’s face and his hand flies up to cover his mouth. Louis himself can’t believe the words left his mouth, and he nearly chokes on a sob as he hurries to wipe at his eyes. He’s absolutely not going to cry.

“Louis,” Harry says, voice low and rough. “No, Louis, you don’t mean that.”

“I want this new Harry to fuck off,” Louis all but weeps. He shoves his fringe back harshly and sighs. “I want my old Harry to stay but this Harry… who even are you? My old Harry would never, ever tell me to butt out.”

“I’m still me,” Harry whines softly, reaching forward a little before he snatches his hand back, like he’s not sure he’s allowed to reach for Louis right now. _Good,_ Louis thinks bitterly. “I am, Lou, _please,_ I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to say that. I don’t think that at all, I don’t want…”

“Why’d you say it?” Louis growls. “Did this new Jeff guy tell you to start over in all aspects of your life, is that it?”

Harry looks horrified. “Absolutely not, Louis, oh my _god._ And honestly? If _anyone_ in the world offered me success in my career but it meant losing you I’d tell them where to shove it. I’m not... I’m not losing you. I _can’t_ lose you.”

“Then come back to me,” Louis screeches. “Stop being so off and weird and _not you._ I can’t lose you either but I…”

“Baby,” Harry says with a sniff, and Louis realises perhaps a beat too late that Harry’s crying too. “Louis, no. I’m not losing you. I’d rather give it all up than lose you.”

Louis can’t look at him right now, so he buries his face in his hands and cries. After a few painfully long minutes he feels tentative arms wrap around his back and he doesn’t want to but he sinks into it, curling his arms around Harry’s shoulders and clinging to him like he’ll wither away without him.

“I’m still so fucking cross with you,” he muffles into Harry’s shoulder. “So fucking cross.”

“I know,” Harry mumbles, but he doesn’t let go. “I know. I’m cross with me too. I…”

“Shut up,” Louis snips. “I don’t wanna talk to you right now.” He pauses. “But I don’t want you to go.”

Harry nods into his shoulder. “I don’t wanna go. I don’t…”

“I thought I told you to shut up,” Louis interrupts.

Harry shuts up. Instead he clings to Louis tightly, arms around him and bodies pressed close, and the pair cry it out until they’re both too tired to say anything else. Louis feels his knees buckle with exhaustion and he lets Harry scoop him up bridal style, carrying him to the bedroom. He falls asleep with Harry’s lips pressed to his forehead and a hand in his, and he’s not okay but he’s got Harry and somehow that’s enough right now.

It’s the first time they’ve fallen asleep tangled together in thirteen days.

*

Louis brings it up again the next morning when he wakes up, because he knows they need to. He doesn’t want to drag this out any longer than he has to, but he also doesn’t want Harry to know or hear how hard his heart is pounding.

“I miss you,” he breathes into Harry’s bare chest. “I don’t… I’m tired, Harry. We’re both tired. We aren’t these people.” He snuffles a little, trailing his hand down slowly so it rests at the bottom of Harry’s spine. “I feel like I haven’t even been able to ask for a cuddle from you, and I fucking hate it.”

He hears Harry gulp and he worries, he always worries, but then Harry sighs and brushes his nose against Louis’s hairline.

“I feel like I haven’t been able to cuddle,” he says, voice croaky and drained. “I don’t know what happened, Louis, but I hate it too.”

Louis nods and takes a deep breath, letting Harry’s larger hand cup the back of his neck as he cradles him in. It feels so normal, but everything has shifted a little, and Louis refuses to spend his time tiptoeing around him. He’s never had to, not once in his life, and he’s not about to start four and a half years into his relationship. “Talk to me,” he pleads. “What happened this week, darling? Why are you being off with me, and why did you tell me to butt out?”

Harry sucks in a breath, and Louis almost regrets mentioning it. “I don’t… I don’t know,” he confesses. “I don’t want you to butt out. You were perfectly reasoned to shout at me, I was being a dick.”

“But why?” Louis forces. “Tell me why. Help me understand, Haz, because the man back there… _fuck,_ it was like I didn’t even know you. It was so…”

“I want this,” Harry interrupts. Louis furrows his brows a little, but Harry barrels on. “I want this whole life that Jeff’s been looking into finding me. He stumbled across me by accident but we had coffee and lunch and stuff, and we got chatting and he… well. He asked if I was ever tempted to leave Lanvin and be my own sort-of brand, for lack of a better word. And I said I hadn’t really thought about it because I was so caught up in this new role I’d been given and stuff. I also explained that my boyfriend worked there and I wasn’t gonna do it without consulting you first.”

“Brilliant,” Louis scoffs. Harry sighs.

“Look, I know, I _know,_ ” he says tiredly. “You don’t need to talk to me like that.”

“I do if you’re gonna be that much of a hypocrite…”

“ _Listen,_ ” Harry cuts in, shaking his head. “Let me finish, okay?” Louis opens his mouth to protest, but Harry beats him to it. “I have never felt more out of my depth than I have these past couple of weeks. I missed you horribly, but I… I dunno. Something stopped me from telling you, but I didn’t tell anyone, Lou, I swear. Not even my mum or Li or Zayn or anyone like that.”

“I don’t care, you should be telling me anyway,” Louis whines. “I tell you literally everything.”

“You didn’t tell me that your first video had reached a million hits,” Harry deadpans, and Louis can’t help the way he tenses in his hold. “Yeah, you see? I check these things, baby. I wanna know how well you’re doing and I wanted to congratulate you so bad that day, but by the time I was home you were already in bed.”

Louis laughs bitterly. “I drank a whole bottle of wine on my own to celebrate and I made myself feel a bit sick.”

Harry makes an odd little sound at the back of this throat and bundles Louis into him tighter. Louis buries his face into Harry’s chest and just sits there for a time, letting Harry’s words wash over him.

“I love you, Louis,” Harry says gently. It makes something low and daft bloom in Louis’s tummy, and he hates how long it’s been since he’s heard those words from Harry. “I love you so fucking much, and you have to know by now you’re always my first priority. I just…” He pauses and rubs his nose through Louis’s fringe. “This was big for me, and I thought I could handle it all by myself like an absolute _mug._ I couldn’t handle it by myself, not even a little bit. I am so out of my depth right now.”

“Let me help?” Louis asks in a small voice. “Tell me what you need and let me help you, babe. I can’t… I wanna help, of course I do. And I promise not to push if I can see you’re unsure or nervous or whatever.”

“Sometimes I need you to push though,” Harry says miserably. Louis moves his head back enough to see that Harry’s eyes are shiny with unshed tears. “I don’t… I’m fucking terrified, Louis. Over the next few weeks I’ve got so much stuff scheduled and it’s all intense and terrifying and…”

“Right, well, have you got any photoshoots?” Louis asks, all business-like. Harry nods. “Fine. I’m your make-up artist for them then.”

Harry gapes at him. “But you said…”

“I don’t care what I said,” Louis says, and he moves his hand up to tenderly cup Harry’s cheek. “I’m not letting someone else do your make-up because I don’t trust new make-up artists with you, you know that.”

“One of them is in Berlin,” Harry offers, cringing. Louis pushes away the hurt of not being told beforehand and shrugs.

“We’ll go to Berlin then,” he says slowly. “I have some holiday days to be using up anyway.” There’s a pause, and when he next speaks he tries to go for light and humorous but his voice comes out strangled. “Any other holidays booked that you haven’t told me about yet?”

“Lou, I’m…” Harry says weakly, shaking his head frantically. “Just that one that I know of, I swear.”

“Okay,” Louis replies. He pats Harry’s cheek. “Look, Haz, I do trust you. I’m not just gonna give up on practically five years’ worth of trust because you went AWOL for a couple of weeks, but I swear to god if you lie to me…”

“God, no, Louis,” Harry says on a frantic exhale. “I’m a bit of a shitty boyfriend, granted, but I’m not a liar.”

“I know, I know,” Louis sighs, relieved. He adjusts their position a little so he’s got his arms wrapped around Harry’s neck, thumb twisting in Harry’s soft hair. “We’ve just… we’ve got a lot of sorting out to do. We need to sort out diaries and stuff, then you need to kiss me and probably suck me off for a very long time to make up for all this, you little bastard.”

“Anything,” Harry says, nodding enthusiastically. “Here, um, so tonight? Have you got any plans?” Louis shakes his head. “Come and meet Jeff and Glenne with me?”

Louis blanches. Harry presses a kiss onto his forehead. “But… really?” Louis questions. “Are you sure?”

Harry looks sad. “Of course I’m sure. I’m really very sure. And I want you to come to this party thing with me on Saturday. I don’t care if we leave early. I really do want you there.”

“Oh, darling,” Louis says lowly, tucking his face back into Harry’s neck and taking a deep breath. He’ll admit that Harry’s smelt better in his time, but right now he wants to cling to him forever no matter how stale he smells. “I want to come with you too. We’ll stay, I promise we’ll stay.”

“Okay,” Harry nods. “We’ll work it out.”

“Don’t push me away ever again,” Louis mumbles. “Never ever again.”

“Never ever again,” Harry reiterates. “That’s a promise.”

*

“ _Louis,_ ” Harry calls from the living room. “Louis, come on, the car is here.”

“I’m nearly done,” Louis calls back, delicately dabbing the cotton bud under his bottom lashes to catch any mascara fallout. If Harry thinks he’s going anywhere without looking completely immaculate he’s got another thing coming. “Just gonna finish up my hair and then I’m ready.”

Harry’s head appears in the doorway, all long curls and perfect lips and scowl. “Louuu,” he whines. “Come on, baby, you look beautiful already.”

Louis snorts. “I know, but I’ve just gotta finish my hair up,” he says, turning back to the mirror. “I’ll be thirty seconds, tops.”

“Bollocks,” Harry sing-songs as he disappears from view. “Have you got everything else sorted? Your phone, your keys, your wallet?”

“What, you mean you’re not buying me drinks all night?” Louis replies loftily. He carefully runs a comb through his hair and squirts some gel on his hands to fix his quiff in place. “What kind of rich model lover boy are you?”

“The kind that’s running late,” calls back Harry. “Lou, come _on._ ”

“I’m coming,” Louis sighs dramatically, spritzing some hairspray along the sides of his quiff and finally leaving the dressing table. He hurries into the living room, where Harry’s holding his blazer up ready, and he slides into it, humming as Harry’s hands smooth along the sleeve. It fits him like a glove, and once again he’s reminded of how lucky he is to work for a gorgeous designer brand that gives away tailored suits as bonuses.

“Beautiful,” Harry tells him, leaning down for a kiss, which Louis readily accepts. “The suit and the man wearing it.”

“I’ve always looked good in Lanvin, I must admit,” Louis quips, unabashed. “Yours isn’t Lanvin though, is it?”

Harry shakes his head, then holds out his arm for Louis to take. With his other hand, he reaches into his pocket for their flat keys and he leads them out then locks the door behind them.

“Mine’s McQueen,” he says as they clip down the stairs. “And _obviously_ I’m not trying to dishonour Lanvin because they’re my current loyalty, but this suit is just gorgeous, don’t you think?”

“It is.” Louis nods approvingly, and once they’re sat in the car he reaches over to readjust the little floral pocket square. “You are truly so stunning, my love.”

“Thanks,” Harry says brightly, and even though it’s dark in the car Louis still makes out the light flush on his cheeks. “And thanks again for coming to this; it means so much to me.”

“Of course,” Louis says, taking Harry’s hand in his and stroking his thumb over the back of his knuckles. “Literally all you have to do is ask.”

“I know,” Harry says, but Louis isn’t quite sure he does. They’ve been okay with each other since their huge blowout fight, or at least he thinks they have, but Harry still seems very much on eggshells and Louis wants to coax him out of it.

“So,” he says gently, bringing Harry’s hand to his lap so he can twist and play with his rings, “what’s this party tonight? Who do I have to schmooze on your behalf?”

Harry giggles. “It’s not really like that, babe. Well, not from what I’ve seen. And really it’s just a party to celebrate the new launch of Jeff’s friend’s jewellery line. She’s hired out a whole art gallery in London and she seems to be friends with a lot of famous people, and Jeff invited us along.”

“Ooh, nice one,” Louis says, interest piqued. He wonders if they’ll be some bloggers or other make-up artists he knows there. “Will there be paps?”

“Maybe,” Harry shrugs. “That… does that bother you?”

“Not really,” Louis says honestly. He’s not exactly unused to paps in the first place. “It’s a good thing I spent that extra five minutes on my hair then.”

Harry laughs and reaches forward for a brief, sweet kiss. Louis sinks into it readily, and once they pull apart he lets Harry rest his head on his shoulder, still stroking at his hand for the remainder of the drive.

Once they pull up to the venue, Harry gets out of the car first. Louis goes to follow, but then Harry appears at the other side, opening the other passenger door and grinning.

“Ooh, how gentlemanly,” Louis coos as he scrabbles to get out. Harry smirks as he takes Louis’s hand and they walk up the stairs and into the venue side by side, carefully ignoring the camera flashes going off on their right.

“You were right about the paps, fuck,” Harry says quietly. “I figured, like, they wouldn’t be looking for me anyway.”

Louis bumps their hips together. “You little up-and-comer, you,” he grins. “You’re getting more and more famous by the day, that’s so…”

“Harry, hey!” a voice calls from across the room, and Louis turns to see Jeff and Glenne making their way across the room. They’re both dressed up to the nines, Glenne in a gorgeous, slinky white dress and Jeff in a well-fitting suit. “And Louis, too! Glad you could make it, bro.”

Louis smiles as he accepts the fist-bump from Jeff and the hug from Glenne. “Nice to see you too,” he greets, kissing her on the cheek. “Love the lippy on you, babe. Is it Whirl by MAC?”

“Indeed it is,” she grins. She drops an arm over his shoulder (they’re practically the same height in her skyscraper heels) and turns them to face Harry. “Do you need him? Or can I keep him?”

Louis laughs loudly, squeezing her around the waist as Harry pretends to pout. “I’d rather you didn’t keep him, I am rather fond of him, actually,” he says dryly. “You can borrow him though. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.”

“Oi,” Louis says, swatting at his arm. “Why are you talking about me like some expendable toy that’s not in the room, you dickhead?”

“I love you,” Harry says in a very serious voice. Jeff hoots and claps him on the back.

“Have you met Daisy?” he asks him, then steers him over towards a short, dark-haired girl in the corner. Louis looks at Glenne, who shrugs, and then both follow their partners over. “She’s the one who designed and developed this gorgeous line of jewellery. Daisy, meet Harry Styles.”

“Lovely to meet you,” Daisy says. Her voice is high and sweet, and she reaches out to shake Harry’s hand. “Thanks for coming. I’m Daisy Lowe, owner of Lowe Blow.”

Harry snorts. “What an excellent name,” he chuckles. It makes Louis snicker at Harry’s expense, because he knows how much of a sucker his boyfriend is for a pun. “I’m Harry, and this is my boyfriend, Louis.”

Harry pulls him out from under Glenne’s arm and tucks him into his side, and Louis sticks his own hand out for Daisy to shake, a little bewildered. He’s not nearly as bewildered as Daisy, though, whose eyes look like they’re about to pop out her skull.

“Louis Tomlinson?” she asks excitedly. “As in the beauty blogger and make-up artist?” Louis nods. “Oh my good god, I am such a fan!”

“You are?” Louis can’t help but blurt. Daisy nods.

“I read your blog in the mornings like it’s the paper,” she laughs. Harry’s arm tightens around his shoulders and Louis’s glad, because he feels a bit like he could just melt to the floor. “And your videos are so good. Like, I’d been struggling for so long to manage a cut crease eye look, but you made it look so easy and now I can do it.”

“Oh, wow,” Louis says. “Well, thank you. I’m glad I could help.” He leans in a little. “Cut creases are little bitches to learn how to do, aren’t they?”

Daisy cackles. “Oh my god, sooo hard. It took me such a bloody long time to get the knack.”

“Your make-up right now looks amazing though,” Louis can’t help but compliment. “Such a great eyeshadow colour on you.”

They end up talking about make-up for another half an hour or so, until Harry trundles back over to them somewhat sullenly. He has a glass of champagne in each hand, one of which he hands over to Louis before he winds his now free arm around his waist.

“Mind if I pinch him back for a bit?” he asks Daisy. Daisy shakes her head.

“No, not at all,” she says, giving Louis a knowing smile. “I should probably do some more networking too, to be fair. But it was so nice meeting you, Louis!”

She disappears off into the crowd, and Louis drains his glass of champagne before he turns to look at Harry. He’s definitely had a drink since they parted ways, bless him, and he’s all rosy-cheeked and bright-eyed as he stares back at Louis.

“Hello,” Louis greets, setting the champagne glass on a passing waiter’s tray. He tilts his head for a kiss, which Harry readily gives him. “How have you been, young man?”

“I missed you,” Harry replies, a cheeky twinkle in his eyes. Louis shakes his head.

“How many have you had, love?” he teases. Harry shrugs and keeps on grinning. “Right, come on. Let’s find some of your new friends.”

Over the next couple of hours, Louis buys his mum a necklace from Daisy’s collection, drinks more champagne than he probably should, and takes photos with a couple of fellow party-goers who know who he is. He’s never ready for it, because it’s still completely alien to him that people actually know his name outside of Lanvin. But he’s gracious and the girls seem incredibly chuffed with their photos (one even tagging him on Instagram just seconds later) and when he checks the photo it has well over a thousand likes in under ten minutes. Mind-blowing.

The real star of the show that night, however, is clearly Harry. Harry knows how to work a room, and he knows how to draw people in and get them listening raptly to even the dullest of stories. Yet as the evening goes on and more champagne is necked, Harry’s drunken blather becomes more and more about Louis and nothing else.

“He’s so talented,” he hears Harry slur to a couple of people that Louis doesn’t recognise. His back is turned so Louis can’t see his face, but he can see Harry’s arms wielding around wildly as he carries on whatever story he’s telling. “And _then_ he told me that it was actually me that helped him start to want to be a make-up artist – wait, does that make sense?” He shrugs and barrels on. “Anyway, it’s because I bought him a Naked palette for his birthday the first year we were together.” He pauses, and Louis rolls his eyes fondly. “Fuck, I love him. He’s so lovely, isn’t he?”

“You’re so sweet,” one of the other participants in the conversation coos at him. “How long have you been together?”

“Like, nearly five years?” Harry says, and Louis knows that if he could see his face his nose would be all scrunched up in confusion. “We got together at uni, you know. Not a lot of people know that.”

“That’s so nice,” the other lady says. “So you’re proper childhood sweethearts then?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Harry chuckles. “He’s the love of my life, you know.”

Adoration tingles up and down Louis’s spine and he bites at his knuckle so his smile doesn’t look too obvious and lovesick. He turns, ready to make his way over to his boy and kiss him stupid, but a tap on the back stops him.

“Hi, Louis,” Jeff says. Louis stops himself and turns to face him properly. “How are you finding tonight, then?”

“It’s been really nice, actually,” Louis admits, running his finger along the cool glass of his champagne flute. “I’m surprised at how much I’ve enjoyed myself.”

“Harry mentioned that these kinds of parties weren’t really your thing,” Jeff says. “But I’m glad you came. It meant the world to him that you came along.”

Louis looks down at his feet, unsure of what to say to that. “I…” he starts, then lets out a breathy laugh. “There isn’t much I wouldn’t do for him, you know,” he says, going for casual but it just comes out soft. “And a party like this isn’t _that_ much of a hardship, I suppose.” He raises up his glass. “Free champagne. Lovely people complimenting my work as well as my boyfriend. Making new friends.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Jeff says, clinking their glasses together. “I like you, Louis. You’re just as fun as Harry made you out to be.”

Louis snorts. “Oh, please. That boy thinks way too highly of me.”

“He loves you a hell of a lot,” Jeff tells him, like Louis didn’t already know, but it does make something loosen in his stomach. Relief, maybe, because Louis hadn’t exactly been excited about meeting Jeff after their fight, unsure about what he thought of Louis or wanted for Harry. “That boy’s quite daft for you, in fact. And not that it’s my place…” He holds up his hands and Louis raises his eyebrows. “But I think I sprung quite a lot on him over the past couple of weeks – probably more than I should have done, to be fair – and I think it’s partly my fault you guys had that misunderstanding.”

“He told you about that, huh?” Louis bristles. Jeff nods.

“And I know it really isn’t my place,” he repeats, “but I think he thought he was doing what was best for you both. I mean, not that I agree with how he went about it, because Glenne would tear me a new one if I’d booked a trip to Berlin without telling her, but his heart’s in the right place. He wanted to make you proud.”

Louis’s throat feels dry. “I am proud,” he says, voice raspy. “I’ve been arse over tit proud of him since the day I met him. I’m pretty sure I’d still be this proud even if he was working at that bloody bar still.”

“I know,” Jeff says, putting a reassuring hand on Louis’s tense shoulder. “He’s worth being that proud of. He’s a great guy, and we’ve become fast friends in the few weeks I’ve known him. That being said, you obviously know him better than I do, and you were perfectly justified in being pissed off.” He tuts. “I did try and tell him.”

Louis sighs. “Is he going to have to have loads more late nights and stuff now?” He snorts another laugh. “God, I sound like such a bitter housewife.”

Jeff shrugs. “I’m not too sure yet. I know there’s a few other industry parties and stuff that he wants to go to – which you’re totally invited to, by the way, but I also know he’s got more Lanvin-based stuff coming up as LFW gets closer, so.”

“Good to know,” Louis nods. “I, um… I’m not, like, normally this bitter or upset or anything. I just missed him, that’s all.”

All he gets in return is a knowing smile before Harry stumbles over to them with a shout, slinging one arm over Jeff’s shoulders and using the other to pull Louis into a clumsy kiss. He mostly misses and gets Louis’s nose instead. “My boys,” he yells as he pulls away from Louis. Louis wipes his face on his sleeve and groans. “Have you missed me?”

“So much,” Louis hums sarcastically. “Are you a little bit pissed, sweetheart?”

“Maaaybe,” Harry draws out, before dropping his arm from around Jeff and winding it around Louis’s shoulders. “I… love… _you,”_ he tells Louis, punctuating each word with a wet kiss, this time to Louis’s lips. “Wanna show you off some more, come with me.”

“Baby, no,” Louis laughs, pulling him back in before he can dash away. He rests a hand on Harry’s chest and looks up at him very sternly. “We should be heading off if you’re this drunk.”

“Nooo,” Harry whines, shaking his head so his hair flies all over the place. “Wanna stay. Drink more. Shots?”

“Absolutely not,” Louis says with a shake of his head. He peers around Harry’s taller body and makes eye contact with Jeff. “Hey, I’m gonna take him home, I think.”

Harry winds himself around Louis like a vine, kissing at his cheek while he tries to get the words out. It only serves to make Jeff laugh. “Fair enough,” he grins, reaching out to shake Louis’s hand. “It was great to have a proper chat with you, Louis. We should go for a drink or something together soon.”

“That would be really… Harry, _stop,_ ” he snaps as Harry starts to not-so-subtly mouth at his neck. “Jesus, babe, at least save it for the cab.”

Harry just giggles, breath hot against Louis’s neck. “I’ll see you guys later,” Jeff calls over his shoulder, then disappears into the crowd. Louis grunts a goodbye then tugs Harry forward, linking their arms so he can support Harry’s weight if he needs to.

“I think you’ve definitely had enough, sunshine,” he says, weaving them through the throng of people. “You’ve passed tipsy and you’re onto the PDA stage.”

“Always wanna PDA with you,” Harry sing-songs, tucking his face into Louis’s neck at the same time Louis tries to guide them down some steps. He swings Harry back so he’s standing up straight and glares.

“You dick,” he says exasperatedly. “Try not to kill us before the night is through, will you?”

“Wouldn’t dare,” Harry moans softly, and thankfully waits until they’re down the stairs before he turns his face back towards Louis. “Wanna go home and suck you, can’t do that if you’re dead.”

“Wouldn’t recommend that, no,” Louis says dryly, hurrying them towards the nearest black cab. He opens the door and shoves Harry inside first, then clambers in after him. He fires out their address, then fits himself against the curve of Harry’s body and leans in for another kiss. He wants to be the sensible one here, though he’s had a few glasses of champagne and the idea of getting his dick sucked by a supermodel is very appealing.

He’s not sure if the driver is exceptionally fast or he just got too lost in Harry’s lips, but before he knows it they’re home. They both stumble out of the cab and up the stairs, and they manage to make it to the sofa before Harry drops to his knees and starts nuzzling at Louis’s half-hard length. It’s a bit of a struggle to get his trousers down but they manage, and it feels like it takes barely a minute before Louis’s coming hard down Harry’s throat.

“Harry,” he gulps, his head lolling back as he tries to gather his strength back. He feels boneless, like he couldn’t stand up right now even if he wanted to. “Harry, babe, up here.”

“My cock,” Harry whines as he struggles to stand up, flopping forward into Louis’s lap. Using one hand to support his back Louis uses the other to wrestle with the button on Harry’s trousers. Harry rests his hands on the back of the sofa and shuffles up Louis’s thighs, rutting against his skin. “’m so… so hard, Louis, _god._ It’s so happy to see you. It thinks you’re so _pretty._ ”

Louis laughs, a little breathless, as he finally gets Harry’s trousers unbuttoned. He dips his hand into the waistband of Harry’s briefs and pulls his cock out, already hard and red and wet. He bites at the corner of Harry’s mouth then sucks a lovebite into the flushed skin just below his jaw even though he knows he shouldn’t. “Got a lapful of pretty boy myself,” he says softly, stroking Harry a little harder. His own cock stirs with interest – he’s only human, after all – but he’s tired and sensitive so he chooses to ignore it in favour of getting Harry off faster. “A pretty boy I fucking love. _Adore,_ even.”

“Love you,” Harry mewls softly, then leans forward to lick into Louis’s mouth. Louis needs about four extra hands to make sure Harry doesn’t topple off him, but he takes his hand off Harry’s back and uses it to cup Harry’s face, kiss him breathless, and then he makes him come with a soft whine and a gentle cry of his lover’s name.

“Love you… more,” he stammers, brushing Harry’s sweat-matted hair from his hair and tucking it behind his ear. “So pretty when you come, Hazza, so pretty.”

Harry giggles and lets Louis wrap him up in a tight embrace before he lies them down on the sofa, chest to chest. The angle’s a little awkward (a lot more awkward when you take into account their tangled trousers) and he’s probably smearing spunk all over the upholstery, but Louis hardly notices as Harry kisses him again and again, until their lips are numb and they reach the point where they’re both too tired to keep their eyes open.

It’s not the worst weekend Louis’s ever had, all things considered.

*


	4. Soft and Gentle

*

_“The clearest way into the Universe is through a forest wilderness” – John Muir_

 

*

The discussion of them moving house gets brought up again pretty soon, this time by Jeff of all people. Louis has the day off so accompanies Harry along to a meeting with him, and he wonders why Jeff is so pleased to see both of them until they’re sat down. His assistant has fetched them all a Starbucks, and Louis’s sipping away happily when Jeff opens a file on his desk and pushes it towards the both of them.

Louis stops slurping, looking confusedly between Jeff and the piece of paper in front of him. “What’s this?” he has to ask. “What’s going on?”

Jeff holds up his hands, and Louis really can’t work out if he’s trying really hard to make Louis like him or he’s actually scared of him. “Don’t shoot the messenger,” he says, and Louis’s brows shoot right up. “But I’ve just got a bit of advice from a managerial perspective.”

“So really you’re not the messenger,” Louis says wryly, then keeps slurping obnoxiously until Harry rests a gentle hand on his knee. “What?”

“It’s only a suggestion,” Jeff continues, “and I don’t want it to sound like I’m having a dig at your current flat because it’s probably really nice…”

“It’s not,” Harry says.

Jeff shrugs lazily. “The point is, I think you should consider moving to somewhere a bit more… central, definitely, but also somewhere that’s a bit more suited for two blokes at this point in their career.”

“So what you’re saying is our flat block is shit and you want us to move so it doesn’t look like we live somewhere that’s complete wank,” Louis says flatly. Jeff smiles awkwardly at him.

“I mean, if we want to be blunt then yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying,” he says. “And I’ve been doing some research for you – that’s the beauty of having a manager, you see, I’ll do the work on your behalf – and to start with I’ve found these four properties that are within your price range, within your specifications, and close enough to central London that you don’t have to worry about transport or anything like that.”

“Okay,” Louis says slowly, fidgeting in his seat. Not even Harry’s hand on his leg is going to stop him from squirming uncomfortably at this. He doesn’t like doing things not on his own terms. “So theoretically - because I’ve got a few worries about this – _theoretically,_ how are we going to get the time to move before Fashion Week?”

“It’ll be hard push to do it,” Jeff acknowledges. “But I have contacts in the business so we can speed along the house-buying process and definitely get you in before Christmas.” He turns to his computer and clicks the mouse at something a couple of times. “You do get time off for Christmas, don’t you?”

“Two and a bit weeks, I think,” Harry says. Louis nods.

“I mean, it’s not ideal, but perhaps that’s a good window for you?” asks Jeff.

“Can we slow down a minute?” Louis demands. “I mean, we haven’t even got a house to move into.”

Jeff taps the file in front of them with his pen. “Give those a look for size,” he says. “They’re all in varying areas of London, so just… just give it some thought, will you? Feel free to tell me to fuck off if I’m overstepping a line, which, Louis, I know you’re tempted…”

“It’s just… it’s just sudden, you know?” Louis blurts, shaking his head. “It’ll be fine, I… I promise I’ll give it some thought.”

The rest of the meeting (mostly them talking about a shoot for Harry in the next fortnight) goes pretty quickly, and when they’re done the pair head to one of their favourite Italian restaurants for lunch. Harry wants to do a bit of shopping afterwards and Louis has nowhere else to be, so their meal is an unhurried affair.

Louis opts for the seafood linguine, his favourite, and Harry elects for a chicken Caesar salad, shyly asking the waiter for extra bacon when Louis pretends to scoff. Once their food order is placed and they’ve demolished most of the free bread and dipping oil on their tables does their conversation turn back to moving.

“You’re apprehensive,” Harry states, not a question. “Something’s bugging you about this, isn’t it?”

“I am apprehensive,” Louis agrees. He dips his finger in the basil oil and licks it off. “It feels like no matter how much time I give myself, the looks will never be what I want them to be.”

Harry snorts and Louis glares out of habit. “Lou, you’ve got bloody bags of time, you drama queen. Have you even started planning your looks yet?”

“Planning, yes,” Louis says haughtily. He fights back the urge to flick oil at his boyfriend. “Practicing, no. But Harry…”

“Look, Louis, can I be blunt?” Harry cuts in, and he looks a little offended at something, shoulders high and face carefully neutral. It’s a look Louis knows fairly well – he’s usually on the receiving end of it if he forgets to do something Harry asked him to do. “It feels… weird to me that you’re like this. I mean, come on, we’ve been talking about this dream house thing for so long and now we have the means and the money for it. So there’s something else going on, isn’t there?”

“No,” says Louis gruffly.

Harry’s face darkens, nerves creeping across his usually-bright features. “Is it… it’s not because of that fucking fight, is it? Because if it is I’m so fucking sorry…”

“Wait, Harry, no,” Louis says quickly, grabbing Harry’s hand and giving it a squeeze. “I forgive you, I really do. I know that wasn’t you, I swear.”

“Okay,” Harry says, still sounding sad. “Because I’ve been so worried ever since then that I…”

“You didn’t,” Louis says, drawing Harry’s hand to his lips before Harry can say anything. “And I love you and I want to live with you in the big fancy house in London, I fucking do.”

“Then why…” Harry starts, but cuts himself off as their food arrives. He thanks the waiter and waits until he’s out of earshot before he picks up the conversation again. “Then why are you so unsure?”

“I honestly don’t know,” Louis says, stabbing rather aggressively at a prawn. He pops it into his mouth and chews it thoughtfully. “I think… I think it has a little with this all being so sudden, you know? Like I’m absolutely over the moon for you, baby, you know I am, but I want to be honest here and say I’m not entirely happy with Jeff telling us we have to move for our image.”

“Yeah, alright, I’ll give you that,” Harry says. He crunches a lettuce leaf loudly. “But I still think we should consider it, don’t you? I mean, it’s not like this is a totally new idea for us.”

“I know,” Louis agrees. “And I think we have outgrown our little flat, but I’m still… oh, you know I’m just a worrier, babe.” He hooks an ankle around Harry’s. “We’ll make some calls this afternoon, alright? Get some viewings set up.”

Harry’s face breaks out into a huge, almost painful-looking grin, and even though Louis has a mouth full of pasta he draws him in for a kiss anyway. “Thank-you,” he breathes, giggling as Louis stares at him a little bewildered. “Thank-you for this, you’re the best.”

“That is correct, I am the best,” Louis says, grinning around a mussel. He shakes his head. “Oh, god, Harry, we’re moving house. We’re _moving house_. I might finally get my make-up room.”

“You will get your make-up room, dummy,” Harry tuts. “I mentioned it to Jeff in passing once. Did you not even have a look at the house specs?”

“No, I just looked at the pictures on the front,” Louis admits. “But that one in Hampstead looked really nice. I think that’s the one I’d really like to go and see.”

“Me too,” Harry nods. “The kitchen looks amazing, and there’s a bloody garden, Lou. A garden in London!”

“You’re cute,” Louis tells him, patting his cheek. “Okay, so that’s settled. I’ll ring the estate agent when we get home.”

He makes an appointment for them to view the house early Saturday morning, and it’s a hard slog to get there in time but with the help of some takeaway coffees and a taxi driver who doesn’t seem to have any regard for speed limits, they make it there before the estate agent does by some miracle. This gives them a little time to look around the street, and Louis honestly has to admit it’s exactly what he was dreaming of.

The house is on one of those roads that immediately comes to mind when you think of the suburbs of London. It’s a tightly packed street, houses all in one long row and built high. Cars are parked tightly in every possible space, but Louis can see signs to the Tube station from the bottom of the stairs leading up to their front door, which is a huge bonus.

Louis falls in love twice that day; once with the house itself, and again when he sees just how much the house makes Harry light up. It looks like something straight out of a film – “my very own Notting Hill with the little blue door,” Harry had said dreamily as he’d skipped them down the road – except the door is actually a burgundy red, painted sloppily. The paint’s showing signs of weather damage, and even though it’s number forty-nine the metal number has come unscrewed, so it looks like a lopsided number forty-six.

Once they step inside, it’s clear to Louis that Harry’s moving in here whether Louis wants to live with him or not. It’s one of those creaky matchbox houses that’s narrow and just keeps going up, but that doesn’t stop it from having a sizeable kitchen, a cosy lounge, and a huge master bedroom.

“The other two bedrooms are kind of small,” the estate agent explains. “Did you have any ideas of what to do with them?”

“One of them is going to be my wardrobe,” Harry says distantly, like he’s barely been paying attention. “And the other is for Louis.”

“I’m a make-up artist,” Louis explains as they move up the stairs. “I need a make-up room.”

“A make-up artist, really?” the estate agent says interestedly. “Do you do celebrities?”

“Sometimes,” Louis hums, peering inside the door to the first bedroom. It’s not huge, but what really strikes Louis is the lack of natural light. He hopes the one at the back of the house is better. “Mainly models at the moment, but it would be fun to branch out.”

He runs his fingers up the solid wood of the doorframe, tapping his nails against them a few times. Yes, this room is definitely going to have to be Harry’s wardrobe room if anything. He ducks out and goes back to join Harry in the master bedroom, whose currently on his hands and knees with a tape measure in his hands.

“Will it fit?” Louis asks. They’d both been a bit worried because their bed is from an antique shop and slightly bigger than most other double beds. It’s a nightmare finding sheets that fit the mattress. “It looks big enough.”

“I should say so,” Harry grunts, wobbling a little as he stands up. “Although realistically I’m thinking it might be worth just buying a new one. That thing is dying slowly and might not even survive the move.”

“Oh, shit, that’s a point,” Louis hums. He taps his chin a few times. “Fuck it. Let’s buy a new bed. What’s a little more debt between life partners?”

Harry snorts as he dusts down his knees. “What do you think of your little make-up room?”

“Haven’t had a look yet,” Louis says, hands stuffed deep in his pockets. “I wanted to check up on you in here first.”

Harry gives him a look, almost like he’s peering over the top of a pair of glasses. “Baby, what are you doing?” he says, smirking. “You’re stalling, aren’t you?”

“No,” Louis mumbles. “Yes.”

“You’re a giant idiot,” Harry tells him before he guides him out of the master bedroom and down the hall. “Come on, you’ve gotta make sure it’s what you want before we sign.”

Louis turns to stare at him, eyebrows raised. “I mean, I’ve already accepted that we’re buying this house. I’ve never seen you like this before.”

Harry blushes pink and pretends to swat at him. “Whatever, Louis, just open the door.”

Louis opens the door muttering something petulant under his breath, but he shuts right up once he sees the room inside. The estate agent was right – it is small – but Louis wants it. He wants this to be his little make-up room.

“Well, then,” he says, sounding surprised. And he _is_ surprised, because in his head he’d been setting himself up for a room that was too small for his dressing table with awful lightning. “I… oh my god.”

“Lou,” Harry says, reaching for his hand. “Lou, look at the light.”

“Harry, I want it.”

“Then it’s ours,” Harry breathes, and with that the pair move towards each other and lock themselves in a tight embrace, smiling into each other’s necks. Louis’s head is spinning and he feels all out of sorts, not sure what to do with this brand new information that this is gonna be their _home._ He’s got a make-up room and Harry has his closet.

“Harry, fuck,” he says, laughing breathlessly before he pulls back. He kisses Harry quickly before moving out of his arms to go and stand in his make-up room, all the while thinking about the lights and the mirrors and the furniture he’s going to have to buy to make this his perfect space. “Harry, I’m so happy.”

“Same,” Harry grins, clapping his hands together. “Oh my _god,_ Louis, let’s go and put in our offer right fucking now.”

“Alright, alright,” Louis agrees, skipping after him. They find the estate agent downstairs, sifting through some papers on the kitchen counter, and after a long chat about prices and timeframes the two go home and send in their offer that night.

Two months later, the house is theirs. Jeff wrangles Harry three days off and Louis uses up the last of his annual leave to get them moved in as quickly as possible. They splurge on a new bedframe and mattress, a fridge, a desk for Louis’s room, and more mirrors than Louis knows how to deal with. It’s a lot of effort moving a million and one boxes around and upstairs, and with Harry’s dodgy back it almost all falls to Louis, who really cannot be arsed with this amount of responsibility.

So with the promise of a chippy dinner and lots of white wine, the pair rope in Niall, Zayn, and Liam to give them a hand. Liam turns out to be a whiz with flatpack furniture, and with the five of them working diligently the whole place is near enough set up and unpacked by the end of the weekend, which also happens to be the first of December.

“Are you spending Christmas here then?” Liam asks as they eat fish and chips with greasy fingers in their new living room that evening. As it turns out, there’s an amazing chippy only three streets away, and Harry and Niall had only been gone for about twenty minutes before they’d returned with a feast.

Louis shakes his head. “Doubt it, lovely as this place is. Think Mum wants us up with her though.”

“And then we’ll drive up to my family on Boxing Day,” Harry explains. “Shame to leave this place so soon after moving in though,” he adds wistfully. Louis snorts and uses his thumb to wipe some escaped mayonnaise from his cheek. “What about you guys? Where are you going?”

“Up to Pez’s,” Zayn says.

“Ireland, the greatest place in the world,” Niall shouts, too loud in their little space.

“Back home,” Liam says at a much more suitable volume after he’s swatted at Niall dramatically. “It’s gonna be really nice to be home for a bit, I think. London can get a bit stifling, don’t you think?”

“Definitely,” Louis agrees. “I’m so excited to see all my sisters and the little lad. I miss them all like mad.”

“Hey, well, if we don’t see you beforehand have a proper good one, lads,” Zayn says, reaching for his bottle of Peroni and holding it out for the others to clink. They all shout cheers and neck their beers and spend the rest of the evening laughing until their bellies hurt.

Louis doesn’t think he’s ever been happier.

*

Christmas comes and goes quite quickly, and Louis and Harry both revel in their time off. They travel up to Doncaster on the twenty-third of December and Louis wakes up the next day in his childhood bed, twenty-six years old and with a supermodel pressed up against his bedroom wall. The bed is too small for birthday sex, which is a crying shame, but Harry makes up for it in the sheer volume of presents he pulls out the boot of the car a couple of hours later.

He un-wraps a new vlogging camera, a set of make-up brushes that he knows cost an arm and a leg, a [La Prairie foundation](http://shop.nordstrom.com/s/la-prairie-skin-caviar-concealer-foundation-sunscreen-spf-15/4148662?origin=category) that Louis had been lusting over for months, several Kat Von D make-up items, and a huge box of personalised chocolates from Thorntons. Louis’s torn between killing him for spending so much money when they’ve just moved house and being so happy he can’t possibly detach himself from his lips, so he punches him really hard in the shoulder then snogs him for a good ten minutes up against the door to the downstairs loo.

“You’re a dick,” he breathes against his mouth, shaking his head disbelievingly. “Are we going to be able to eat at any point in the next few weeks, or?”

“Will you shut up and let yourself be spoiled on your birthday?” Harry says, pinching at his hips. He smacks their lips together loudly. “Honestly, I’ve never known someone to be so upset about getting gifted what they’ve not so subtly been dropping hints about for the past two months.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t think you’d actually _buy_ them,” Louis says, as if Harry’s the daft one here. “I didn’t need it, Haz, honestly, you’re so naughty.”

“Be quiet,” Harry tells him sternly before moving in to kiss him again. “Let me spoil you.”

Louis wants to protest, he really does, but he has to admit he does like being spoiled a _little._ So he kisses Harry one more time, then goes off and finds his little brother and sister so they can give him his present, a suspiciously well-wrapped mug with _WORLD’S BEST MAKE-UP ARTIST_ written across it.

For his birthday dinner, Jay orders them a feast of Chinese food and white wine, and she, Harry, Louis, Dan, and Lottie all stay up well past midnight drinking and chatting and munching on the leftover prawn crackers. Louis barely gets five hours of sleep before Harry of all people shakes him awake to open presents, because Jay is a saint and has wrapped them each a small stocking of little bits and bobs. After unwrapping lots of his favourite chocolate, some luxury teabags, and a couple of lipsticks the pair migrate downstairs to watch the kids unwrap their ginormous stockings. Breakfast is croissants and smoked salmon, one of Louis’s all-time favourites, then they all wander to the living room to open their presents from each other.

Louis watches with glee as Harry un-wraps a vintage Saint Laurent coat that he’s been hiding at Liam’s for months now. Harry looks genuinely dumbstruck and it’s a gorgeous look on him, because his eyes go all wide and they look super bright in the midday sun. He clutches at the coat and looks between it and Louis almost frantically, his mouth flapping open and closed like a confused fish.

“How did you… _where_ did you…?” he babbles, stroking the sheepskin lining like it’s a pet. “ _Louis._ ”

“You are welcome,” Louis drawls, rubbing his hands together happily. “Merry Christmas, darling.”

“Talk about spoiling people rotten, you little…” Harry says, cutting himself off as he leans across the sofa to take Louis’s face in his hands. He presses a huge smacking kiss onto Louis’s lips, then does it again as all the little ones makes noises of disgust. “Oi, I’m just telling your brother I think he’s really great!”

“You might think I’m even greater if you take a look in the pocket,” Louis grins. Harry gapes at him for a second before he falls back into his seat and shoves his hand into the left-hand pocket. He pulls out a little wrapped box and pulls the paper off it ever so carefully to reveal a very small jewellery case. He takes the lid off and it reveals a little necklace with a paper plane on the end, something Harry had seen when they’d been in Berlin but hadn’t had the time to go and buy. Louis had snuck off during one of the shoots and gone back to the shop, and even though it cost him a pretty penny the look on Harry’s face tells him it was completely worth it.

“You… _how?”_ Harry practically wails, dangling it out across his fingers so everyone in the room can see. Louis just smirks proudly. “Louis, you’re so naughty, _god._ ”

“But I sure do know how to buy my boy presents,” Louis replies, standing up and moving in front of Harry so he can take hold of the necklace. “Can I put it on you?”

“Of course,” Harry chokes out, and _Christ,_ Louis didn’t intend to make him cry, dammit. Once it’s clasped in place Louis drops down into Harry’s lap and draws his arms around his middle, cuddling into him.

“I love you,” he whispers. “I’m glad you like it.”

“I love it,” Harry says, nuzzling his nose into Louis’s hair. He kisses the back of his neck and makes a happy little sound in the back of his throat. “I love it nearly as much as I love you.”

“Ooh, big talk,” Louis teases. He presses a light kiss onto Harry’s cheek and pretends not to notice his mother cooing at them. “I’m glad you like it though. I did wonder if it was just something you saw for a second and you weren’t actually that interested, but it’s cute because it matches that stupid drunk tattoo of mine and…”

“I love it,” Harry repeats, nudging him quiet. “You big old spoiler.”

Louis spends the rest of the day with a big, dopey grin on his face. After the presents are all unwrapped and Jay and Dan move into the kitchen to start on the meal, a rather competitive game of Mario Party starts out on the Wii. Louis gets more into it than he probably should for a twenty-six-year-old big brother, but he destroys Harry, Fizzy, and Daisy fairly easily. As Lottie, Phoebe, Dan, and Dotty and Ernie get up to play themselves, Harry curls an arm around Louis’s shoulder and tugs him onto the sofa and they end up napping until Jay serves the turkey.

They all end up having a relatively early night – the kids worn out from all the excitement and the adults knackered from their early morning wake up calls. Louis goes to sleep warm and a little bit tipsy, the cool silver of Harry’s new necklace tickling his shoulder as they squash up together in their tiny bed. They wake up the next morning and enjoy another huge feast of bacon, eggs, and pancakes, then they head off to Holmes Chapel around ten.

It’s not a short drive to Holmes Chapel, but they crank up the Christmas songs for a singalong and the traffic is relatively quiet so they make it there for noon. Anne greets them merrily with a cheeseboard and coffee, and after they’ve settled in they have a second Christmas of sorts and open a few more presents. For dinner there’s hot ham sandwiches and trifle, and once they’re all too full to move Harry whines and pretends to stamp his feet until they put Love Actually on the telly.

It’s one of the best Christmases Louis thinks he’s ever had, and between Harry, his mum and sisters and his in-laws he’s got more presents that he knows what to do with. He and Harry are due to stay in Holmes Chapel until the twenty-eighth, and while Louis is grateful for the time out of London (and also grateful that Anne is putting them up in the guest room with a beautifully spacious double bed) he’s received _so_ much new make-up that he’s just itching to get back and try it out.

But he quashes the thought and enjoys his resting time away from work, and sends out a few quick tweets saying he’ll do full reviews of all his new presents on his blog and channel to give himself something to look forward to. The next couple of days are lovely, filled with long dog walks in the countryside, hearty meals with lots of wine and many a cuddle on the sofa, but Louis is very ready to get back to London by the end of it. He doesn’t do well with sleeping in different beds, never has, so he’s excited for that but also to get some time to himself.

The drive from Holmes Chapel to back home is just over three hours so they take turns driving it, and by the time Louis’s pulled up to their gorgeous new home it’s dark outside. They drowsily unpack their bags from the car and trudge inside; the house is freezing cold but Harry rushes to put the heating on high and grabs his laptop so they can get a Domino’s ordered while Louis turns on all the lights and lugs their bags upstairs. By the time he’s done that and changed into soft sweatpants and a huge jumper, Harry’s got pretty much every candle in the house lit and two beers open and waiting for them on the coffee table.

“Mmm, so glad to be home,” Louis declares loudly as he flops onto their overstuffed sofa. He takes a long swig from his drink and exhales happily. “And that was so needed, bloody hell. I am _knackered._ ”

“Same,” Harry says, toppling down next to him with a groan. “Nice to get away for a bit but you can’t really beat the feeling of coming home, can you?”

“To our perfect new house,” Louis hums, shifting so he’s sat cross-legged and facing Harry. “Forgot how much I loved it until we came home.”

“Sap,” Harry tells him, and he moves in for a kiss only to be interrupted by the doorbell. He sighs and gives him a quick peck anyway before he jumps up to grab their dinner. “Turn the telly on, will you? Find us something to watch.”

Louis pads over to turn the TV on and he settles on an episode of Midsomer Murders as Harry comes back with the two huge boxes of steaming pizza. “Yes, gimme,” he says eagerly, making grabby hands for the boxes. “I’m fuckin’ starved.”

“The bottom one is yours,” Harry says, sliding it out for Louis to take. “It’s pepperoni, chicken, jalapenos and extra cheese.”

“God, I knew I loved you for a reason,” Louis grins. He rips the lid off his garlic dip and Harry’s barely sat back down before he’s already shoved a slice into his gob. “ _Fuck._ ”

“Why do you always make sex noises when you’re eating pizza?” Harry wonders aloud as he opens up his own box. He rearranges the vegetables on his slice before he takes a bite. “Should I be worried?”

Louis snorts. “I remember saying that to you in fresher’s week when I was a bit pissed. Something like if you like pizza like I do then we’re gonna get along just fine.”

“I like to think our relationship is built on a little more than a shared love of pizza,” Harry says dryly.

“I also love your dick,” Louis supplies helpfully.

“You’re the worst,” Harry tells him. “Now shut up so we can actually follow the show.”

Louis nods and settles against the cushions of the sofa, happy to just relax and nibble on his pizza and bask in the familiar glow of being home and all domestic about it. He eats about three quarters of his meal before he can’t go on, so he closes the box and pops it on the coffee table before he pulls down the blanket from where it’s folded at the top of the sofa and sets it over his chilly legs.

Once the adverts start playing Louis takes both their pizza boxes into the kitchen and slides them into the fridge. He grabs a couple more beers and heads back through to the sofa where Harry’s commandeered the blanket and is sprawled over about two thirds of the space.

“Charming,” Louis scoffs, flopping down on top of him. Harry whines but he’s long since mastered the art of rearranging Louis so he’s not digging his jabby elbows into him, so pretty soon he’s got him curled under his arm, legs tangled under the blanket.

“You warm enough?” Harry asks, hand resting lightly on top of Louis’s belly. Louis nods and Harry kisses his temple. “Good.”

They watch the rest of the episode in silence, and once it’s over they lazily untangle themselves and get ready to head upstairs. Louis folds up the blanket and tosses the empty beer bottles into the recycling as Harry blows out every single candle and flicks the lights. He locks the door then the two march upstairs slowly, taking turns in the bathroom before they slide, exhausted, under the cool covers of their wonderfully familiar bed.

“So nice to be back in here with you,” Louis says with a smile. He rolls over and pulls Harry into him, so they’re lying comfortably back to chest. “I hate that bloody single bed at mine, it’s hell on my back.”

“And mine,” Harry says, turning his face into a pillow to muffle his yawn. “S’okay though because I love being at your house.”

“Yeah, I think my mum loves you the most, you know,” Louis tells him, patting his tummy. “You eat more than any of us and you always remember to say thank-you.”

“Bless,” Harry murmurs. “I am the golden child.”

Louis smiles and kisses the back of his neck. “Good night, my golden boy. I love you very much.”

“Love you too,” Harry slurs, voice already heavy with sleep. “No alarm tomorrow, yeah?”

Louis snorts. “Absolutely not. I’m doing sweet fuck all tomorrow except maybe riding your dick. Hope that’s okay.”

“We need to buy food.”

“We’ll do a Tesco order,” Louis says, patting his tummy again. “Night, angel.”

Harry seems mollified enough by that to drift into an easy, almost instant sleep. Louis’s not far behind him, and he cuddles a little closer to his boyfriend and lets his eyes flutter closed until the welcome blanket of sleep draws over him.

*

“So,” Harry says to him a few days later. They’re back to work on Monday so they’re making the most of the rest of their break by doing lots of coupley things. At the moment they’re having brunch in a local café, which would be nicer and more relaxing if someone wasn’t trying (and failing miserably) to subtly take pictures of them from a few tables down. Whatever. “Fashion Week is only six weeks away, babe.”

Louis nudges him with his foot. “Why did you say that? I’m panicked enough, man, I don’t need reminding.”

“Alright, _man,_ ” Harry deadpans. “I just wanna gauge how stressed you’re gonna be over the next few weeks, _man._ ”

“Oh my god, shut up,” Louis whines. “You’re mean and I’m already stressed, you dickhead.”

“Well, if there’s anything I can do,” Harry says with a shrug. He’s already finished his avocado on toast so he steals a bit of Louis’s bacon. “This is me offering to be your practice piece, by the way.”

“Like you weren’t gonna be my practice piece anyway,” Louis scoffs. He slurps his tea and glares as Harry moves in towards his eggs. “Anyway, I’m not gonna use you for the whole time, just so you know.”

“Oh?” Harry says, sounding surprised and looking a little too gleeful for Louis’s liking. “How come?”

“Because you’re annoying and I’ve had enough of your stupid face,” Louis sniffs. Harry lets out a little whimpering sound and pouts until Louis puts a placating hand on his cheek. “I’m only joking, sweetheart. How could I ever get sick of this face?” He goes in for a kiss, then remembers the annoying teenagers watching them so he moves it to Harry’s cheek. “But also I don’t wanna damage your skin too much, and really I’m going to need girls.”

“Yeah?” Harry asks, then nods. “Fair enough, I guess. Have you asked Pez then?”

“Yeah, and El and Sophia and also Jade said she’d chip in,” Louis tells him. “Since Gracie went on maternity leave it’s just us two and Keira, really, so it makes sense for us to work together with it.”

“’kay,” Harry says, signalling the waitress over. “Hey, not to be a dick but can you chug your tea? There are people taking pictures of us and it’s weird.”

“It is a little weird, isn’t it?” Louis grimaces as he drains the last of his mug. Harry’s already pulling out his wallet, so he tugs on his jacket and wraps his scarf around his neck. They both stand up and link hands almost automatically as they head out of there, battling their way through the bitter wind down the London streets. “Hey, did you still wanna do some shopping?”

“Only if you want to,” Harry tells him, leading them towards a Tube station. They clip down the stairs and both fumble for their phones to get up their Tube pass app, moving through the barriers and onto the platform relatively easily. “I wouldn’t mind getting some more boxers and some travel bits for that bloody photoshoot next week.”

“I can’t believe you’re going to Paris without me,” Louis says flatly. He huddles a little closer to Harry because even though it’s a lot warmer than outside down in the underground he’s still bloody freezing. “I was so convinced the next time we ended up in Paris would be the time we finally elope and put our families out their misery.”

“The only reason I haven’t bloody proposed is because you’re always whining about money,” Harry says, cuddling him in. Louis’s just about to open his mouth to retort when a camera flash goes off somewhere to his left and he startles.

“What was that?”

“Dunno,” Harry says, blinking. “Some hipster taking arty photos of the tracks or something, maybe?”

“No…” Louis says slowly, almost jumping as another one goes off. “Oh, fucking _hell,_ they’re not even being subtle.”

“What… are they taking photos of us?” Harry asks, craning his neck behind him. “Did those kids follow us?”

“No, these are new ones,” Louis says angrily. This hasn’t happened to either of them before, or if it has the people are at least polite enough to come up to them and ask for a picture with them, and the lack of respect of it all is pissing Louis right off. Lucky for him the train pulls up just them, so he drags Harry onto it and purposely huddles them in the corner of the carriage. He wraps his arms around Harry’s waist and glares. “ _Fuckers._ ”

“Hey, Lou,” Harry rasps gently, stroking a hand up and down up his back. It makes his coat bunch up a bit and Louis uses this as an excuse to press even closer to his boyfriend. “It’s okay, babe, no need to work yourself up about it.” He kisses the top of his head and mostly gets beanie, but Louis appreciates the sentiment.

“It’s just invasive,” he sighs angrily. “I know we’re going into the centre of London and all that but what if they followed us home or something?”

“They wouldn’t,” Harry says firmly. “And then we could go around the back way and use that gate at the end of the garden.”

“Not the point, babe,” Louis groans. “Were they taking pictures of you or me?”

Harry shrugs. “Dunno. Didn’t wanna look and give them what they want.”

“Why are you acting like this can be made rational?” Louis grumbles. “Like, do they not have anything better to do? Go get a proper job, you dicks.”

“Louis, it’s a Sunday,” Harry says, giggling stupidly. Louis kind of wants to pinch his nipple, but they’re in public so he refrains. “Try and take it as flattering.”

“No,” Louis says petulantly. “I’m not going to be made to feel like having strangers take photos of me on a Sunday when I’m not wearing any make-up is okay.”

“Is that what this is about?” asks Harry, looking far too amused about this whole situation. “Are you mad because you’re not looking your Sunday best?”

“Fuck off,” Louis scowls, and he pulls himself out of Harry’s arms and crosses them across his chest, leaning against the wall of the train. “It’s the fucking _principle,_ Harry…”

“I know, I know, _hey,_ ” Harry says, winding his arms back around him. Louis sighs and glares at him a bit, but Harry doesn’t react and just keeps on hugging him. “Angel,” he coos, and Louis _fucking_ hates it when Harry calls him angel because it’s his _fucking_ favourite. “They’ve stepped off the train anyway, okay?”

“Not the fucking point,” Louis repeats, but he sags and relents his snapping. “Urgh, fine. Whatever. But if it happens again…”

“I shall ring Jeff tomorrow and ask him to advise us on the situation,” Harry says, voice careful. Louis has a feeling he’s more uncomfortable than he’s letting on, but he doesn’t say anything. “He knows more than we do and he’ll handle it better than we will if left to our own devices.” He gives Louis a stern look. “Mainly you.”

“ _Oi._ ”

“And now because you’re so jumpy I will buy you the new Urban Decay palette,” Harry tacks on. “The Naked 7, is it? That green one you’ve had as your phone background for the past two days?”

“You can’t just distract me and woo me with make-up,” Louis frowns, but a couple of seconds later he shrugs and he beams up at Harry. “Oh, wait, you can.”

“I know,” Harry hums. “And we both know it’s what we’ve come into London for, so I don’t know why you’re squirming.”

“I’m still nervy, that’s why,” Louis says, snatching up Harry’s hand and moving them off the train the second it pulls up to the station. “I didn’t even know we were that famous. I… I _can’t_ get my head around even the vague possibility that either of us is famous.”

“I mean, we’re B-list at best,” Harry says. He drops Louis’s hand so he can swipe his phone on the ticket barrier, then picks it up again once Louis’s moved through himself. “But let’s be honest, babe, you’re probably more well known in those teenage circles than I am. I’m more of a…” He flicks his hair with his free hand. “Cult favourite.”

“Oh my god, you’re so embarrassing,” Louis whines. “Take me to Selfridges now so I can get myself home and away from you.”

“That’s not very nice,” Harry says, grinning. He swings Louis’s hand up and down, which is a bit precarious on busy Oxford Street, but like Louis suspected he’s perked up remarkably now they’re out in the open and hidden in plain sight by busy shoppers and tourists. “I offered to buy you make-up and this is how you repay me?”

“I repay you with my endless love and devotion, but alright,” Louis retorts loftily. “Fuck, Haz, I still can’t believe we got papped.”

“My famous little blogger baby,” Harry grins, kissing the top of his head as they trot up the stairs to Selfridges. “Taking over the world one eyeshadow palette at a time.”

Harry ends up buying him the Naked 7 and a lot more besides. It’s truly a beautiful palette, all greens and blues and soft highlight shades, and between staring at it and looking at Harry himself Louis comes up with the idea for two of his Fashion Week looks there and then.

He rims Harry until he cries when they get home to say thank-you, then stays up late trying to perfect the looks on himself. He finally crawls into bed around half one in the morning, shattered but thoroughly pleased with his progress. London Fashion Week might not be such a disaster after all.

*


	5. Shade and Light

*

 

_“Don’t confuse fame with success. Madonna is one; Helen Keller is the other” – Erma Louise Bombeck_

 

*

Louis is incorrect. London Fashion Week is a total fucking disaster.

Louis’s feet fucking _ache,_ he’s run out of clean brushes, and he can’t find a foundation fair enough for this model who is quite literally the single palest person he has ever seen. He’s got twenty minutes to do her entire face of make-up, she’s still got to go through wardrobe, and on top of all that, he’s also lost Dani.

In short, today is a bit of a mess.

London Fashion Week has been without a doubt the most tiring week of his life so far, and even though he’s loved most of it, there are points where he just wants to rip out his hair, throw down his brushes and never contour again. Right now is one of those moments because he needs Dani back here right now, and she’s nowhere to be seen.

“Where’s Dani?” he shrills, trying to blend and crane his neck to see if he can spot her at the same time. It doesn’t work, so he has to do a very speedy clear-up job with a cotton bud. “Has anyone seen Dani?”

“No,” an unfamiliar voice yells back. “Have you seen Henry?”

“Who the fuck is Henry?” Louis calls, then doesn’t wait for a response. He moves his brush over to the other eyelid and dusts the transition colour through her crease before he lets out a sound of frustration and dumps the brush on the dressing table. “Where’s Dani?”

“Here,” Dani says, skidding back into the room. Her hair is all over the place and there’s a huge smudge of purple across her blouse. “ _Fuck,_ sorry. I dropped a fucking tube of liquid lipstick down myself.”

“Holy fucking Christ,” Louis swears, eyes going wide at just how ruined her gorgeous periwinkle top is. “Can you fix it?”

“Not when we’ve got a motherfucking model to send out there in fifteen minutes,” she cries as she grabs a palette. She flips it open and picks up a blending brush, then starts to blend out a really light brown colour into the model’s crease. “What is happening? How many more have we got?”

“Too fucking many,” Louis curses. He’s struggling to get into a pot of pigment, so he tries to open it under his t-shirt but it explodes and he ends up stood there in a haze of blue glitter, his shirt now blue instead of white. “Oh my god. Oh my _god._ ”

“Jesus,” Dani hisses. “Shit, fuck, oh my _god…_ ”

“Louis!” a voice behind him yells, and he spins to find Keira glaring at him. “Louis – oh my _god._ ”

“I need to change,” he blurts frantically. “I need to change right now.”

“You have no time,” Keira hisses. “We need you on the front line. Some _idiot_ fell over in her heels, burst into tears and ruined her entire eye look.

“Which girl?” Louis tries to ask, but Keira’s already swept out of there. He turns desperately to Dani, then he shrieks. “Dani, what are you doing?”

“I don’t know,” Dani wails, throwing the brush to the floor. “I can’t find a colour light enough for her fucking contour.”

“We have to start again,” Louis groans, looking at the model over the top of his glasses. He hates wearing his glasses to work with a passion, but if he’s going to have 20/20 vision on any day today seemed about right. Now Louis’s kind of wishing he hadn’t gotten out of bed at all. “No, shit, you need to start again. I need to go.”

“Don’t leave me,” Dani says desperately. “Don’t you dare…”

“I don’t have a choice, do I?” Louis whines, scrabbling for palettes and any clean brushes he can find. “Fuck. _Fuck._ How am I meant to know what to take for this fucking eye look? Dani?”

Dani looks about as panicked as he feels. “I don’t… I don’t know,” she stammers desperately. “Plus you’ll need concealer, contour kits, you’ll need…”

“I’m taking everything,” Louis cuts in, seizing up as much stuff as he can fit in his two hands and bolting. He doesn’t even give Dani a goodbye, he just races out of there and down towards the entranceway onto the catwalk. There’s several huge curtains separating the models and the crowd, and even further back there’s a smaller room that Louis heads to because he assumes the girl with the ruined make-up is going to be hiding.

He’s not wrong, and he finds her hidden behind a clothes rail muffling her sobs. “Hey, love,” he says gently, crouching down. “Are you alright?”

“Do I look fucking alright?” she whines loudly, then slaps a hand over her mouth. “I’m fucking _limping,_ Louis, I can’t go back out there.”

“Shit,” Louis mumbles as he glances down at her leg. Her left ankle has swollen in a sizeable sprain and she really shouldn’t be wearing heels. “Let’s get this off you, Jesus Christ.”

She nods and hiccups, letting Louis unbuckle her shoe ever so carefully so he can slip it off her foot. “It hurts,” she cries, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. “And now I’ve fucked up the start of my career and I…”

“You haven’t,” Louis says firmly, peering behind him to see if anyone is hearing their exchange. Thankfully nobody’s there. “Remind me of your name, sweetheart?”

“It’s, um, Leigh-Anne,” the girl sniffs. She presses her foot flat against the cool floor and hisses. “Ow, _ow._ ”

“I’m not letting you put those shoes back on,” Louis says firmly. “You’ll do yourself permanent damage if you do.”

“I’ve only done one walk though,” Leigh-Anne whimpers. “They’re gonna make me, I swear.”

“Over my dead body,” Louis scoffs. “Let me tell you now, if anyone tries to make you do that then quit on the spot. A five-minute walk in front of a few cameras is not worth you buggering up your foot.”

“Okay,” Leigh-Anne nods, sniffing again. “Okay.”

Louis’s sure he’s seen Leigh-Anne somewhere before, but now doesn’t feel like the time to press it. “Let’s get you up and out of here,” he says instead, shoving the make-up to one side and guiding her arm around his shoulder. “I’ll take you somewhere better than here, okay? And then hopefully someone will be able to get you some ice or something.”

“Shit,” she yelps as she stands up on it, transferring most of her weight onto Louis as she nearly stumbles again. Louis holds up upright – she’s only a slight thing – and gives her a few seconds to adjust before he moves them forward just a couple of baby steps.

“This okay?” he asks. Leigh-Anne hesitates but nods, a little whimper escaping her lips as they shuffle forward again. “Hey, hey, love. Don’t cry. It’s gonna be okay, honestly.”

“Louis!”

Louis freezes, his grip around Leigh-Anne’s waist tightening enough so he doesn’t drop her. He stops moving forward and pulls a face, then drops his expression just in time for Keira to appear in the doorway, her eyes shooting him daggers.

“What are you doing?” she spits at him. “Why aren’t you doing her make-up?”

“Because, Keira, she can’t walk in heels with a sprained ankle,” Louis shrills. “So I’m taking her to find a medic or something.”

“That isn’t what you need to be doing,” Keira snaps, hands on hips. “You need to be doing touch-ups on the models and you need to not be hiding in a cupboard.”

“I’m not hiding, I’m helping,” Louis says snidely. “You asked me to do her make-up and I’m making the executive decision to spend the time I would be using to do her make-up to help her out of here so she doesn’t do herself any permanent damage.”

“Get one of the other girls to help her then,” Keira tells him hotly. “Make yourself useful and do what you’re being paid for.”

“Jesus Christ,” Louis exclaims loudly. He doesn’t make a move to put Leigh-Anne down. “Look, just let me take her to a medic, alright? Then I’m all yours.”

Keira stomps off without giving an answer, and Louis lets out a long whistle. Leigh-Anne strokes his shoulder. “For what it’s worth, I’m very grateful,” she croaks. “Come on, let’s just go. I don’t wanna lose you your job.”

“You won’t lose me my job,” Louis grunts, leading her towards the back door. Luckily for them there’s a first aider just on the other side of the lobby so Louis signals her over and leaves Leigh-Anne in her much more capable hands. With a promise that he’ll find her a little later, he heads back inside and back to the little room to gather up all his make-up, then he steps back into the throng of things.

Time seems to drag but also go far too quickly, and by the end of the prep for the Lanvin women’s show Louis wants to quit make-up forever. He’s never felt so stressed, so out of his depth, and so like he’s doing something for the wrong reasons in his entire career, and for a ludicrous minute he contemplates just striding right over to Keira and telling her he’s out for good. Once he’s finished doing all the touch-ups he doesn’t even stay to watch the models – despite some of them being people he’d call his closest friends. He slinks back to the room he was in earlier, where he finds Dani slumped in one of the chairs. She looks exhausted and near tears as she types away on her phone, so Louis closes the door to give them some privacy then moves towards her and pulls her into a giant hug.

“That fucking sucked,” he says sadly into her shoulder, and she nods her agreement. “I want to die right now.”

“Same,” Dani tells him. “I’ve never wanted to burrow under my duvet and never remerge more in my entire life.”

Louis clicks his tongue and runs a hand through his hair. “Fuck, Dani, fuck. What even happened back there? Why did we… we’re so _good._ We are, and we just…”

“Don’t,” Dani says firmly, slapping a hand over his mouth. “Don’t remind me, okay? I wanna get so drunk at the after party we just forget this whole ordeal.”

“Agreed,” Louis says glumly. “Wanna come with me to watch Hazza? He’s on in twenty minutes.”

Dani shakes her head. “I’d love to, and I hope your boy fucking kills it, but not now. Jade’s coming back here in a second and I just kind of want to hide away for a bit.”

“Fair enough,” Louis says. “I’m gonna go take my seat anyway. Well, I’m gonna check the male models first, but as there’s only ten of them I think Keira will have it covered.”

“Oh, god,” Dani moans. “I’d honestly rather face a rabid dog than her right now. Good luck to you.”

With a final tight parting hug and promises to reconvene at the after party, Louis bids her farewell and hurries towards the waiting area for the models. He peaks his head inside and sees a few familiar faces, but not Harry. Keira’s nowhere to be seen either, and since she pretty much told him he could have Harry’s show free to watch him (back when she didn’t want to skin him alive) he moves out of there and down the stairs to enter the showroom.

And not for the first time, Louis’s absolutely over the moon he’s dating a supermodel.

Despite the earlier shit storm, nothing Louis’s ever done feels better than watching Harry walk down that catwalk. Every single pair of eyes in that room is trained on him, rapt, and all Louis can think to himself rather gleefully is that he’s the absolute proudest of them all without a doubt.

His boy looks amazing – Keira’s crafted out the stark make-up look that Louis’s been working hardest on onto his face, which is a blunt base with a super-striking contour – and throughout the show he dons loud shirts and suits that fit like a glove and trousers that look like they’re spray-painted to his skin, and nobody can stop staring. Harry Styles is going to be the name on everyone’s lips by the end of the night and not even Louis’s ruined shirt or the fact he hasn’t eaten since yesterday can ruin it. He’s _flying_.

Once the shows over and he gets backstage he’s like a man possessed as he dashes through the hordes of people and clothing racks and stage equipment. All the models are coming offstage at the same time but Louis barely pays them any attention, so keen is he to get to Harry. He knows it’s probably rather unprofessional but right now he’s honestly too buzzing to care. They could sack him for all he cares, it’s not going to slow the whirring of _Harry Harry Harry_ in his head.

He spots Harry rounding a corner, talking to one of the other models that Louis vaguely recognises. Normally Louis would let him finish his conversation but today isn’t a normal day so he barrels into him with perhaps too much force. Harry just about manages to catch him without them knocking anything over, and Louis’s just so happy because he’s laughing and he’s sweaty but he draws Louis in and keeps him pressed close, like he _knows_ as well. He probably does, the self-assured git.

“Louis, oh my god,” Harry laughs, sounding surprised and a little winded, but very happy nonetheless. “Hello, you.”

“Hi,” Louis says back, voice muffled by Harry’s chest. “You were brilliant.”

Harry’s laughing into his shoulder, his arms tight around Louis’s waist as he swings them gently from side to side. Louis himself is a bit lost for words for once in his life – he doesn’t think there are actual English words to express his pure levels of joy and pride and elation – so he clings to Harry as tight as he dares in public and makes a loud, happy sound from the back of his throat.

“Seriously, Haz,” he says, pulling back and moving his hands up to cradle Harry’s face. “You were _gorgeous_ out there, baby. The best thing I’ve ever seen, honestly, I’m… I’m stunned for fuckin’ words, _honestly.”_

“Oh, please,” Harry scoffs. His cheeks are fading to that gorgeous pink colour that fills Louis with glee. “You’re completely biased about this.”

“Not true, I’ve seen you in the mornings,” Louis grins, bopping him on the nose. He probably isn’t ever going to shut up about today, never never ever. “I’ve seen you at your minging worst and I’ve seen you at your best, but _then_ I saw you out there, darling, and let me tell you…”

“Hush,” Harry giggles, squirming rather adorably in his hold. His skin is hot and flushed, and Louis wants to kiss him all over. “I had such a fucking amazing time out there though, oh my _god,_ I felt on top of the world! And the suit, oh _fuck,_ Louis, did you see the suit? Did you see?”

“Of course I saw, baby, I wasn’t looking anywhere else,” Louis chuckles. “It was so gorgeous on you. I… I mean, I honestly think you’ve never looked better, not ever. You fucking killed it and I’m so proud.”

“Oh, Lou,” Harry coos, then tucks his face into Louis’s shoulder and squeezes him tightly. Louis would be quite happy to stay here for a very long time, and he almost forgets they’re in a crowded area until someone jostles them and he accidently topples them into a clothes rail. Harry’s head pops up in surprise, and his expression is so comical under the dramatic make-up that Louis starts laughing and nearly brings them down again.

“This place is a fuckin’ safety hazard,” he whines as he reluctantly parts from Harry’s lovely long body. He snatches up his hand and keeps a very firm grip on it instead. “Hey, are you changing before the after-party?” Harry nods. “Want me to take your make-up off for you and make sure your skin’s okay?”

“Please, oh my _god,_ ” Harry says with an eager nod. “You know I hate this stuff on me. I don’t get how you wear it all the time.”

“Another issue for another day,” Louis says, leading him through the hordes of people and back to his make-up station. It’s only a short walk away, but that’s easier said than done when a million and one people want to congratulate them both from all sides. Harry takes it in his stride, clearly still on top of the world, but Louis always gets a bit antsy when surrounded by loads of people, particularly when they’re trying to touch one or both of them. He uses a lot of self-control not to smack out at grabby hands and pastes on a huge smile as he walks them back through, then closes the door quickly so he can have a minute alone with his boyfriend.

“Louis, I feel like I could cry,” Harry says dreamily, flopping himself down into the make-up chair. “I feel fucking amazing. I’ve honestly never felt this good before.” He gasps suddenly, like he’s only just remembered something. “Oh, god. How did it go on your end?”

Louis pulls a face and sighs hesitantly. “Fucking dreadful if I’m being honest.”

Harry’s face falls, and Louis almost feels bad for telling him the truth. He can’t lie for shit though, not to Harry. “Why?” he asks forlornly. “Everything was looking so positive.”

“Was being the key word,” Louis grimaces. “I dunno, I just… I didn’t do my best and things kept going wrong and I ruined my favourite fucking t-shirt…”

Harry gapes at him, eyes big and blinking. “The one with the not heartbroken slogan on it?” he questions, mouth turning down into a frown. “Fuck, no, there must be a way to fix it. And it can’t have been _that_ bad, baby, not with all the hard work you put in.”

“It’s whatever,” Louis says, dismissing it quickly with a wave of his hand. He doesn’t want to talk about his fuck-up, he wants to talk about Harry’s shining moment. “It’s over and I’m… well. Let’s just say if they let me go after this it’s a fucking brilliant thing that I’ve got my YouTube channel and blog.”

Harry stands up from his chair and pulls him into the biggest hug, which makes the feelings of doubt and self-deprecation in Louis’s stomach bubble right to the top. “Shit,” is all he offers, then kisses the top of Louis’s head. “Shit, Lou, I’m so sorry.”

“Hey, no, don’t give me that,” Louis says, laughing humourlessly. “Look, let’s make today about you, okay? Please?”

Harry hesitates, then nods. “Okay,” he agrees, kissing the top of Louis’s head again. “If you’re sure. Because we don’t have to pretend everything’s peachy keen if you…”

“Harry, please,” Louis says, half-annoyed and half-pleading. “I am not beneath begging right now.”

“No, no, okay, I’ll shut up,” Harry says, holding up his hands and stepping back. “I’ll talk about me again if you want.”

Louis grins despite his overwhelming urge to cry. “Yeah, please do.” He hurriedly turns away from him so he can hastily blink back his tears and he rummages through his bag for some micellar water, a packet of cotton pads and a tub of the moisturiser he likes to use when Harry’s a little drier than normal. He’s a proper boy scout today with all his products, and he’s offended, almost, that the products he picked failed him so miserably.

“I don’t want to do anything else for the rest of my life,” Harry says from behind him, a nice distraction from his shitty thoughts. “I want to model and do fashion and fucking be this person forever. I can’t imagine doing anything else.”

Louis turns, grinning, because the pure pride and excitement in Harry’s voice is enough to perk his mood right up. “Yeah?” he says softly, popping his stuff on the table behind them before he circles his arms around Harry’s shoulder. “I think you could, you know.”

“I think I could,” Harry says, beaming. “I really think I could do this. I think today went amazingly, and I don’t… I don’t wanna be all predicting the future and shit but there were definitely people watching me today and I…”

“Baby, people will be knocking down our fucking door to get to you,” Louis promises. “You kicked butt today. You blew me away and you’ve blown me more times than I can count.”

Harry slaps him lightly on the chest, giggling through his pout. “ _Lou._ ”

Louis leans down and kisses him, then combs his hands through the back of Harry’s slightly matted hair. “I’m serious,” he smirks. “Once we’ve changed we’ll go and network a bit because honestly? Tonight is your night and I bet you get approached, like, the second we walk through that door.”

“My night,” Harry echoes. He draws Louis in even tighter and parts his mouth with his tongue, practically pulling him into his lap in his bid to get them closer. “I know we said we wouldn’t talk about it, and I’m not going to…” He dives forward and kisses the pout right off Louis’s face before he can reply. “But I want you to know that if you’re down or people make comments or anything then we can leave straight away. I’m not happy unless you are.”

“Shut your face,” Louis tells him, but he pats his cheek to show he’s not really cross. “Tonight is your goddamn night, Harry. I’m going to show you off for all your worth and forget my job might be on the line come Monday.”

Harry gulps and he goes rigid in Louis’s hold. “I… what the _fuck?_ What happened back there?”

Despite being pressed against Harry pretty tightly, Louis makes an effort to look anywhere but at his face. “Oh, you know,” he says dismissively, although the crack in his voice probably gives him away a bit. “It was just shit from start to fucking finish. I ballsed up and I didn’t have as much time as I needed and I…” He sniffs and rubs at his nose. “I don’t wanna do this anymore, Harry. I don’t want make-up to be pressured or for me to feel like I have to stick to a guide. I wanna do me, so.” He shrugs and tries not to melt as Harry starts peppering little kisses across his face and neck, just ends up slumping against him in defeat. “This is not how today was meant to go.”

“I know, angel,” Harry says softly, then rubs his nose against Louis’s ear. “You’ve got a good head on your shoulders though. You’re a very talented person and yeah, you might have fucked up once but we both know you’re still fucking brilliant at what you do.”

“Don’t feel like it,” Louis grunts before he gently pushes Harry away and shakes himself off. “Right, anyway. I said I didn’t want to talk about it, so we’re not going to.”

“Lou…”

“I’m going to take your make-up off now,” Louis continues loudly, grabbing the cotton pads and snapping open the bottle of make-up remover with such force that Harry has no choice but to be quiet.  “And then we’ll get changed and go.” He squirts some liquid onto the pad and moves it gently over Harry’s forehead. “I think a beer in me might make all the difference.”

“Good,” Harry says, moving his face to the side so Louis can clean off his cheek. “I’d love a wine as well.”

“I’m sure that can be arranged,” Louis grins. “Do you know what you’re wearing?”

Harry laughs and nods. “I’m being so naughty,” he tells Louis, biting at his bottom lip. “I’m gonna wear Gucci. A Gucci suit.”

“Har _old,_ ” Louis cackles proudly, throwing the cotton pad on the floor and picking up another one. “You are so naughty, oh my god.”

“Well…” Harry drawls, pausing so Louis can wipe his lipstick off. “I just think you’ve gotta wear what you feel comfortable in, you know? And I don’t wanna wear a brand that’s gonna fire my boyfriend.”

“They basically did give you your big break, though, love,” Louis points out with raised brows. Harry shrugs.

“I honoured them, didn’t I? I did my job.”

“Fantastically so,” Louis agrees. “Alright, you heathen. I think I’m wearing Topman anyway, so I can’t comment.”

It takes about half an hour for the pair of them to get ready, partly because Louis insists on taking his own make-up off and starting again (“I look like I’ve been to hell and back, Harry, just let me do this”) and partly because Harry can’t stop kissing him. Louis’s a little unsure whether he’s trying to be the reassuring one here and he’s trying to keep Louis nice and distracted, and maybe even put him in a better mood before the after party, and he’s grateful for it. He knows these nights are about networking, but he really doesn’t want to leave Harry’s side for the foreseeable future.

Once he’s mattified and has a new pair of eyebrows drawn on, he spritzes himself all over with expensive cologne and a lot of deodorant, then changes into a fresh pair of jeans, a plain t-shirt with a scoop-neck (the reminder of _it is what it is_ feels ever so relevant and necessary right now), and a soft tweed blazer with a leather stripe down the sleeves. He steps into brogues, gives his hair a bit of volume, and he feels a million times better than he did an hour ago.

“Haz? I’m ready,” he calls, checking his reflection one last time. Harry’s somewhere on the other side of the room dressing himself, because he’s always had a very strict routine when it comes to getting himself ready. Him and Louis do it the opposite way round to one another, because Louis likes to dress himself first and then plan his make-up and hair that way, whereas getting dressed is Harry’s last bit. He likes to dress himself alone too, which is partly why his dressing room is so important to him. He becomes Harry Styles once he’s dressed up rather than Louis’s Hazza, and _apparently_ the transformation itself is key.

Once he steps back into Louis’s eye line and he finally sees what he’s wearing, Louis has to fight the urge to bark out a laugh. He tries (and fails) then spins so he can grab his boy by the hips and tug him down for a messy kiss.

“You are so funny,” he giggles, arms tight around Harry’s waist but not tight enough to crease it. “That is the most obnoxious suit I have ever fucking seen.”

“It’s better than that Lanvin one that made me look like Beetlejuice, isn’t it?” Harry smirks. “I loved it, Lou. I couldn’t say no.”

“Good boy,” Louis says, patting his hip before he pulls apart. “Shall we go?”

“Yes,” Harry nods. “I think we’re on the right side of fashionably late now.”

Louis grins, scoops up Harry’s hand, and leads them out of there and towards the open bar he’s been gagging for since the day began.

*

All the networking pays off.

Harry’s asked to be on the cover of Vogue for their March issue. He cries and Louis cries and they both kiss and go out for the most expensive meal they can afford (before they remember they _can_ afford it now and it won’t make them sweat), and then Louis drags him home and they make love and kiss each other’s skin and laugh until it’s coming up to light outside.

Maybe this is the proudest Louis’s ever been. And maybe he can only get prouder.

*

“I think I’m gonna resign from Lanvin,” Louis whispers to Harry late one night a couple of weeks later. He’s not even sure Harry’s still awake, so he braces himself for silence. But instead he gets a long breath against the back of his neck and then an incoherent mumble from Harry. “What was that, Haz?”

“You’ve made up your mind then,” Harry breathes, rolling over and rubbing at one eye with a sleepy fist. He blinks, then goes almost cross-eyed as he keeps watching Louis. Louis doesn’t say anything. “Is it because I’m going?”

“A bit, yeah,” Louis admits after a while. He strokes a hand up and down the curve of Harry’s body and doesn’t say anything for a little while longer. Finally, he says, “yeah, it’s a bit because you’re leaving, I won’t lie. But also because I really wanna branch out a bit more, you know, with my looks and stuff.”

Harry lets out a soft exhale. “Is it… you’re bored, aren’t you? You’ve been bored for a while.”

“I… yeah, I think that’s what it is,” Louis says quietly. He still feels the need to whisper about this, even though it’s only him and Harry in the safety and comfort of their little room. “Lanvin looks tend to be super classic, don’t they? And I love the team and some of the looks I have to do, but it’s getting a bit… I dunno, day-jobby.”

“And you like the blogging more,” Harry says, not a question. Louis nods. “I knew you did. You’re so bloody good at it, Louis.”

“I love it so much,” Louis murmurs, like Harry doesn’t know. “And I think, you know, if I just focused on that I could freelance a lot more readily. Put myself out there to do, like, more TV work and work for other brands and stuff.”

“Do it,” Harry says, then surges forward to give him a tender, firm kiss. “I’ll support you in anything you do. It’s a good time for us as well, cos we’ve got money for the first time ever and, like, you’re making more money from YouTube and your blog than we ever thought, so I say go for it.”

Louis kisses him again, smiling against his lips. “I’m glad that even at one am, after I’ve just poured out one of my biggest panics to you about my entire career future, you’re still trying to be sensible about money.”

“Well, one of us has to be,” Harry grumbles, but he too is smiling. “And hey, I’m very proud. I don’t feel like I tell you enough when you tell me enough for the both of us.”

Louis shifts toward and takes him into his arms properly, palms spread across the wide expanse of Harry’s bare back. He rubs their noses together in a gesture he’ll deny outside of the privacy of their own bedroom, then kisses Harry again, just once. “Don’t be an idiot,” he says sternly. “Thank you, though.”

Harry nods, then silently rolls over in Louis’s arms so Louis’s spooning him once more. A kiss to Harry’s shoulder, then they both bring the duvet up a little higher and settle back down for sleep. Louis’s final thoughts are _yes, yes, I can definitely do this,_ and he feels positive and excited as Harry’s steady breathing lulls him under.

They hand in their resignation letters to Lanvin less than a week later. Louis follows Harry’s example and decides to sign under Jeff’s management, and within a week he’s got three photoshoots for celebrities he could only dream of working with as well as an interview with Daisy set up for his blog.

This really feels like the start of something great.

*

From then on, it feels like they don’t stop going from strength to strength. It’s as if a weight has been lifted off his shoulders, and when he buys a diary and Jeff starts helping him along booking appointments and finding him work, things really seem to take off. In just a few days his waiting list is booked up until next Christmas, and he’s got a long list of photoshoots, weddings, runway shows, and even a film starring Leonardo DiCaprio and Angelina Jolie to add to his future repertoire.

Leaving Lanvin feels like the best thing he’s ever done.

 

*


	6. Blue Velvet

*

 

_“Change, like healing, takes time” – Veronica Roth_

 

*

Louis’s so tired he isn’t even sure he can stand. He spends the entire Tube ride home (thankfully nobody’s recognised them this time) curled up into Harry’s side, grateful for the warm arm that Harry has wrapped around his shoulders.

They’ve both been on their feet for coming up to twelve hours – Louis doing make-up on almost fifty people in six hours while Harry does countless costume changes in the studio next door. It’s quite rare that they get to work together these days, but aside from feeling like he could very much fall asleep here, Louis’s had a really good day. He’s spent a lot of it getting to know one of Harry’s model friends and her girlfriend, and he’d left with two new phone numbers and the promise of lunch when they’re all free. The shoot was a success too, Harry being the clear standout model and making Louis almost dopey with pride the entire day.

The rest of the group had asked if the two wanted to come for drinks afterwards, but it was on the wrong side of London for the both of them and they didn’t want to risk missing the last Tube back, so they opted for not. And now he’s on the Tube Louis is rather glad he didn’t say yes, because he hadn’t quite realised how sleepy he was, or how all he wants is a pizza and a cuddle on the sofa.

The Tube pulls up at the station and Harry gives him a nudge, and with a groan he hoists his bag onto his shoulder and traipses out of there behind Harry, their fingers linked loosely as they wind themselves through the bustling platform.

It’s not far to walk to their house, but Louis whines the whole time anyway. “Give me a piggy back,” he demands, headbutting Harry’s upper arm as they wait at a crossing. “Carry me like the blushing bride I am.”

“Absolutely not,” Harry retorts, tugging Louis back when he tries to cross right in front of a taxi. “Louis, _Jesus._ How tired are you?”

“Sooo tired,” Louis complains loudly. “Leave me here to die. I cannot go on.”

“You can see our house in, like, two seconds,” Harry tells him sternly, guiding him across the road. “And once we’re there you can sleep all you want.”

“I want to sit down and eat a lot of pizza,” Louis announces. “Can we order a pizza? When’s your next shoot?”

“Not for a fortnight or so,” Harry tells him. “Yeah, we can order pizza.”

“I love you and I want to have your babies,” Louis says very seriously. “One pepperoni, chicken, and extra cheese and then one vegetarian special or whatever the fuck you get?”

“Veggie supreme,” Harry corrects. “Yes please. God, I’m bloody starving. I hope we’ve got some snacks in.”

“There are some crisps hidden in the back cupboard,” Louis says sweetly. “Sorry, I know you told me to throw them away but I can’t survive on kale chips alone.”

“You’re a knob,” Harry tells him. “But I knew they were there, you idiot. You’re the worst at hiding things.”

“Oops?”

“Whatever, I’m glad they’re there now,” Harry says with a short laugh, then he drops Louis’s hand to rummage around for his keys. “Do you wanna ring for the pizza then? And I’ll grab us some snacks and find us a blanket and something to watch.”

“Yeah, sure,” Louis says, nudging open the front door. It’s pitch dark inside their house so he reaches for the light switch, then moves straight through into their kitchen without sparing their living room a second glance.

It’s only then he realises that something is very wrong.

Their kitchen is _freezing,_ and also soaking wet. He reaches for the kitchen light blindly and flicks it on, stunned into stepping backwards when he sees that there’s glass all over the floor.

“Bloody fucking Christ,” he swears, taking a careful step forward to examine the window. It looks like the glass was broken from the outside, so for a minute he thinks that one of the neighbours has kicked a football through it by accident or a tree branch has hit it at a bad angle. But then Harry calls his name from the living room, and he sounds terrified and small and like he might cry.

“Louis,” he yells, panicked. “Louis, I…the TV’s gone, Louis.”

“Oh, shit,” Louis curses under his breath, then hurries through to the living room. Harry’s trembling, eyes big and shiny with tears already, as he surveys the scene. Louis winds his arms around his waist and takes a deep breath before letting himself have a look at the room itself. Their TV stand is empty, vacant of their telly, DVD player, and Sky box. The coffee table is also bare, and Louis knows he left his Macbook on there this morning. “Oh my god. Oh my fucking…”

“My… my laptop, Lou,” Harry croaks, turning his face into the top of Louis’s head. “And m-my iPad. I l-left them on the armchair, I thought… not our home, Lou, _no…_ ”

“Oh my god,” Louis says again numbly. He doesn’t know what to say. “I don’t… the kitchen. The kitchen is covered in glass. They came in the back, I guess, I…”

A sudden noise from upstairs make them both jump, and Harry whimpers into Louis’s hair as he clings to him even tighter. Louis swallows slowly and reaches into his pocket for his phone, but its battery has long since died. He then reaches for Harry’s and finds his battery is also flat, and they haven’t got a landline either. He moves carefully out of Harry’s grip and goes into the kitchen, grabbing a rolling pin from one of their drawers. Belatedly, and now he’s giving the kitchen a proper look, he sees just how bare it looks. Harry’s Nutribullet is missing, and so is their fancy toaster and kettle and their microwave too. He doesn’t even want to look in half the cupboards so he moves back through to the hallway and starts to make his way up the stairs, shaking his head as Harry hisses, “Louis, _no”_ at him.

He moves up the stairs brandishing the rolling pin above his head, but as he moves down the landing towards their bedroom he sees that one of the pictures hanging up on the wall has now fallen to the floor, so he moves his hand down again. He flicks the light on and moves towards the bedroom, where the door is wide open anyway. His breath hitches when he takes in the scene – the bed is missing its covers, the TV they had mounted on the wall is missing as well, and their wardrobe doors are open, which makes his heart sink and tears prick at his own eyes. He doesn’t even want to think about how many expensive clothes Harry will have lost.

“Harry?” he calls, but it’s barely loud over the lump in his throat. “Harry, babe, it’s safe up here.”

Harry seems to wait a couple of seconds, but then Louis hears the familiar sound of his heavy footsteps trudging up the stairs and then warm arms are back around his shoulders, strong and supportive. He leans into them and kisses Harry’s wrist.

“Baby, I’m so, so sorry,” he croaks sadly, almost glad he can’t see Harry’s face right now. “The wardrobe door, I guess they…”

“Don’t,” Harry cuts in, then he sniffs. Louis wants to cry. “I, um, I don’t want to look. I mean, I need to look, but, like, I can’t. Not…”

“Baby, we really need to get out of here,” Louis interrupts, wrapping his hands around Harry’s wrists so he can turn around and look at Harry. He moves his hand up to wipe a tear from his cheek and shakes his head. “I think we need to leave. Like, now. And call the police and check into a hotel or something.”

“Yes, I suppose,” Harry mumbles. “Fuck, okay, I’ll look.” Louis hears him gulp then he scratches his forehead. “Wait, have you checked your make-up room yet?”

_Shit._

“No,” Louis rasps, eyes wide. “Oh, fuck, _fuck.”_

“Go and do that now,” Harry says, sounding equally as frantic. “Do that and just, like, gather all your shit so we can get out of here, Louis, _please._ ”

“Yeah, of course, baby, course,” Louis says, nodding dumbly, then he moves out of there and practically sprints into his make-up room. He turns on the light and then lets out a cry, because _no._

All his drawers have been upended, his iMac that he used for planning and editing predictably missing from the desk, and his entire collection is in disarray. Palettes and compacts lie smashed on the floor, and as he moves closer he sees that it’s all his cheaper stuff – a few things from drugstore brands – that still remain. His top drawer of the stuff he reaches for regularly is almost completely bare.

No more Nars. No more Urban Decay. No more Chanel powder that he ate carrot sticks for nearly a fortnight to afford back in his student days. No more Charlotte Tilbury contour kit that Lottie bought him as a gift when he graduated uni. No more MAC or By Terry or Laura Mercier or Clinique.

In a panic, he scrabbles to open his bottom drawer, and his heart soars a little when he sees the Naked palette from all those years ago. He grabs it and cradles it close to his chest rather uselessly, bottom lip trapped between his two front teeth so he doesn’t start crying into it.

Aside from the vanity case of stuff he took with him to the shoot today, Louis’s entire collection – his pride and joy, his fucking _livelihood,_ for Christ’s sake – is gone, probably forever, at the hands of some slimy bastard who won’t know what the fuck to do with it.

He stifles back a sob and steps out the room blindly, not wanting to be in there when all he can see is everything he’s ever worked for trodden into the carpet and cracked into tiny plastic pieces. He wants out and he wants Harry, so he moves back into his bedroom to see Harry sitting on the floor silently, head in his hands.

“H-Haz?” he stammers, crossing the room and putting a tentative hand on his shoulder. “Haz, I…”

“It’s all gone,” Harry says, and his voice comes out strangled. “It’s all fucking gone, Louis. My St. Laurent jackets, my Burberry trench, all my fucking boots, my scarves, they’re all…”

“Harry,” Louis says again, and this time he doesn’t even stop the tears from falling, angry and frustrated and unsafe in his own home. “Harry, come on, let’s get out of here. Let’s just…”

“My presents from Mum,” Harry says in lieu of replying. “All the gifts from my favourite photoshoots. All my keepsakes, they’re all…”

“Harry, _please,_ ” Louis begs. “I can’t stay here any longer, I feel sick. I wanna go now.” He sniffs miserably. “You said a minute ago, you fucking _said…_ ”

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” Harry says, standing up on shaky legs and turning to him. His face is pale underneath the remnants of the make-up from today’s shoot, and he looks about ten seconds away from tears himself. “Have we got a suitcase or did they take those as well?”

“Harry,” Louis all but whispers, shaking his head. “I have nothing to pack. They took everything. I… I don’t even know what’s worth bringing with me.”

“Fuck, Lou,” Harry groans, bundling Louis up into a tight, desperate hug. His breathing is all over the place and Louis suddenly feels sick and stifled and claustrophobic in Harry’s arms for the first time in his life and he _hates_ it. He gently pushes Harry away and wipes at his eyes.

“Come on,” he coaxes, not meeting Harry’s eyes as he bends down to retrieve their suitcases from under the bed. “Suitcases are here, let’s just… let’s hurry, yeah?”

Wordlessly, the two begin packing all they have left into their suitcases. For Louis, it’s only a few shirts, shoes, and pairs of trackies and jeans, as well as what he can salvage from his make-up collection. He leaves the drawers where they are and tries not to touch them if he can help it in case the police are able to get fingerprints from them, but in all honesty he doubts it. Whoever did this was clever and organised, and it makes Louis feel genuinely ill.

Harry’s suitcase feels almost too light when Louis carries it down the stairs, and he doesn’t want to think about how many thousands of pounds Harry’s lost. Like Louis, the only pieces that he’s managed to salvage where the ones he took to the shoot today, and also a couple in lower drawers that whoever did this managed to miss. But it’s not even about the money here, because even though Louis’s lost a shit-tonne of expensive items too, it’s so much about what they represented. They represent the years of Louis treating himself, or Harry, to a little piece that he knew would make them smile. It was about buying things that made him feel good about his job, and knowing that he was trying something new that could possibly be his new favourite. It was about earning that money when he wasn’t earning much, and spending it on something to further his career and bringing himself closer to his dream job.

All shattered. All gone. Just like that.

“Louis?” Harry calls from the top of the stairs. Louis turns and rests the suitcase against the wall. “Our phones are dead, Lou, how are we meant to call the police or someone for help?”

“Shit,” Louis hisses, running a hand through his hair. “I, um, well. I guess we go next door, ask to use theirs?”

Harry nods just once before he disappears back into the bedroom, returning a couple of seconds later with an armful of their monogramed blankets and towels, a gift from Gemma when they first moved in. That gives Louis an idea.

“Maybe… maybe we should ring Gemma,” he suggests. “She’d take us in for a few nights, wouldn’t she?”

“Of course she would,” Harry agrees with a quick nod. “Okay, let’s… let’s just get out of here then. Have we got everything?”

Louis shrugs. “Probably,” he says sadly. “Oh, wait, I need to grab our bags from earlier.”

“I’ll get them,” Harry says, sliding past him carefully. “Gonna stick these in a binbag then I’ll grab them.”

“Yep,” is all Louis replies with, then he fumbles for his keys before he drags the two huge yet empty suitcases out of the door, down their little front steps, and onto the dark street. A quick check of his watch tells him that it’s two minutes past eight, so he doesn’t feel too guilty about knocking on some stranger’s door.

A couple of minutes later, laden with Louis’s backpack, his own satchel, and their binbag of blankets, Harry emerges. He locks their door (not that it’ll do anything, Louis thinks bitterly) and trudges down the stairs on heavy feet. He joins Louis and neither of them says anything for a few seconds, because there isn’t much to say, really. Their entire life feels like it’s been reduced to five bags, and their dream home in the centre of London has become nothing short of a nightmare.

They stay silent as they move towards the house to their left, pressed close but not holding hands, too many bags stopping them from being as close as they want to be – _need_ to be. Louis walks up the three steps to the dark house first, the only light coming through a bedroom window upstairs, and rings the doorbell with a sigh. A dog barks, then a couple of seconds later more lights flick on and then the door opens to reveal a bottle blond woman with a lot of pearl necklaces and reading glasses perched on her nose.

“Hello,” she says curiously, then she blinks and her face lights up with recognition. “You’re the two lads from next door, aren’t you?”

Louis nods. “Hiya,” he says slowly, taking a deep breath. “Look, um, this is really awkward to ask and I’m sorry to intrude on your evening but could we, um, possibly borrow your phone or a plug or something?”

“Yes, yes, of course,” she nods, surprise in her tone. “Is your power down or something?”

Harry lets out something akin to a whimper and Louis wants to reach for him so badly, but he’s got two suitcases to keep standing and he is not going to cry again _,_ dammit. “No, no,” he says, nearly _shouts_ in a bid to staunch his tears. “We’ve, um, _god,_ we’ve been burgled and we’ve…”

The lady gasps and covers her mouth with her hand, then before Louis really knows what’s happening she’s clipping down the stairs and taking the suitcases off him and tugging them up the stairs. “Oh, dears, that’s _awful,_ ” she says sadly. “Alan? Alan! Come and give me a hand, will you?”

Louis turns to take the binbag from Harry and follows her up the stairs and into the house, Harry not far behind. Their house is pretty much identical to theirs in layout, but with different pictures on the wall and it smells a lot like a Yankee Candle shop. There’s also a Golden Retriever barking in the doorway to their living room, sharp enough to make Harry flinch. Louis drops the binbag and wraps a hand around Harry’s wrist, stroking over his pulse point.

“Bailey, quiet,” the lady says sternly. She sets both their suitcases against the wall and gestures them towards the kitchen, looking rather like a worried mother hen. “Come through, come through. I’ll pop the kettle on. Alan!”

Louis doesn’t let up his grip on Harry’s wrist as they move through into the kitchen. He pulls out a seat for Harry first, then sits down in the one next to him, linking their hands the second he can. The lady sits down at the head of the table and peers at them over the top of her glasses concernedly. “Tell me everything, darlings,” she instructs, kind and not too forceful. “Oh, and I’m Lily, by the way. Sorry we haven’t been properly introduced.”

“I’m Louis, this is Harry,” Louis croaks. “We, um, we haven’t even lived there very long, have we?”

Harry shakes his head. “Not even three months,” he says, voice trembling like it was earlier. Louis grips his hand a little tighter, bringing it up onto the table and resting it there so he can cover it with his other hand. “I’m still in, like, complete shock.”

“Of course, dear, of course,” Lily says sympathetically. “How did they get in? Was your back gate locked?”

Louis nods. “We’ve never unlocked it in the whole time we’ve lived there,” he answers with a shrug. “Never had the need to.”

“They smashed the kitchen window,” Harry mumbles. “I assume they got out that way too. The front door was still locked when we got home.”

“Yeah, the kitchen was drenched,” Louis explains. “And half our appliances gone, but I didn’t notice that for a bit. I was trying to work out if, like, the neighbours on the other side had kicked a football over or something.”

“Mhmm, mhmm,” Lily nods, then turns to look at the elderly gentleman whose just entered the room. Louis assumes this is Alan. “Alan, make these two boys a cuppa, will you? They’ve had a right day.”

Alan nods and gives them both a little salute in greeting. “Hi, lads,” he welcomes. “You’re from next door, aren’t ya?”

Louis nods sombrely. “Yeah, but I’ll be honest, I don’t know if we’ll be there any longer.”

“Oh, really? What’s happened?” Alan asks as he fills the kettle at the sink.

“We, um, we came home from a day in London and the house had been broken into,” Harry croaks, rubbing at his tired eyes with his free hand. “Pretty much everything of worth is gone. Our tellies, our laptops, Louis’s iMac, half my bloody wardrobe…”

“Christ, lads,” Alan mutters in disbelief, just as Lily asks, “they took your clothes?”

Harry nods. “Yeah, I’m a model.” He flushes pink and looks down at his and Louis’s clasped hands (Louis knows how much he hates telling people he doesn’t know very well in case he comes across as big-headed). “I have a lot of big brands in my wardrobe… _had,”_ he corrects sadly. “In fact, all me and Louis both have left is what we took to today’s shoot.”

“Are you a model too?” Lily asks. Louis shakes his head.

“No, I’m a freelance make-up artist at the moment,” he explains. “So I also had a lot of expensive stuff and it’s all gone.”

“Bloody hell,” Lily sighs, and Louis is so glad she hasn’t made the comment he was worried she was going to. Like Harry, he’s always cautious of people’s immediate assumptions. “You must have had a hell of a lot of good products.”

“Quite a lot, yeah,” Louis says sadly. “Pretty much everything that wasn’t from, like, Rimmel or something has gone. All my Chanel, all my YSL, all my bloody Charlotte Tilbury…”

“Oh, darling,” Lily frowns, and she sounds quite distraught. “That’s really hideous. It’s your bloody livelihood they’ve gotten into too, the bastards. I can’t even imagine what you’re feeling.”

“It’s bloody horrible,” Louis says with a humourless laugh. “I feel physically quite sick, if I’m being honest.”

“I don’t even know how to feel,” Harry adds, moving forward to wrap his arm around Louis’s shoulders, pulling them closer together. “I can’t stop thinking about someone else being in our house, touching our stuff, you know?” He shudders. “I hate this, I hate it.”

“Oh, both of you,” Lily says sadly, reaching forward and clasping Harry’s hand across the table. “I’m so sorry this happened to you. I wish I could help.”

“You are helping,” Louis promises, offering a sad smile, but he’s blinking back tears and he suspects Lily knows it. “We really appreciate the tea, and the, um, the plug sockets.”

Lily smiles back at them. “Of course,” she says. “Do you need anything else?”

“I don’t think so,” Louis says, just as Harry says, “I think I best just ring Gemma, if that’s okay.”

Lily nods. “Of course. Me and Alan here will leave you two alone while you give her a call.” She stands up and lets her hand slide comforting across Louis’s shoulders. “We’ll be in the lounge if you need anything, just give us a shout.”

“Thank you,” Louis says hoarsely with a nod. Harry offers them another sad smile and then drops his arm from Louis’s shoulders so he can reach for his phone. He types in his passcode with shaky fingers and scrolls through his contacts several times before Louis takes it from him gently and selects Gemma’s number for him.

“Thanks,” Harry croaks. “Sorry, I’m… sorry.”

“Hey, no,” Louis says, sliding his arm through Harry’s. “It’s shit, yeah? I feel fucking horrible and I don’t think you can be feeling much better. So, hey. It’s okay. Let’s… let’s just get out of here and get somewhere a bit safer-feeling, okay?”

“Yeah, definitely,” Harry agrees, then taps call on his phone and holds it up to his ear. Louis hears the faint bleeping of the dial tone, then a click as Gemma answers. “Hi, Gem. Sorry to call you so late…”

Gemma interrupts and says something that Louis can’t hear, and he watches feeling a bit helpless as Harry nods silently and uses his free hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. Gemma, bless her, probably just thought he was ringing for an innocent chat, and by the sound of things she has a lot to talk about.

“Gems?” Harry says, and it sounds a little biting to Louis’s ears. It takes him a little aback. “Look, Gems, I’m sorry to snap, I really am, but me and Louis are in trouble.”

“Trouble?” Louis hears Gemma’s tinny voice say after a pause. “What kind of trouble?”

“Our, um, _shit…_ Gemma, we got robbed,” Harry blurts, then sniffs. “Basically everything got taken from our house and we’ve packed up and we’re sitting in a neighbour’s kitchen and…”

“Oh my god,” Gemma says. “Shit, _shit,_ Haz. That’s… that’s bloody awful.”

“I know,” Harry moans. Louis’s grip on him tightens. “Can you come and pick us up?”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Gemma says hurriedly, and it sounds like she’s reaching for her keys. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes. Which neighbour are you with?”

“The, um, the one on the left hand side, so number forty-seven,” Harry says. His voice is shaking. “Hurry, Gems, please be quick.”

“Yeah, I will… _Ross!”_ she shrills, signalling for her partner. “Ross, get down here!” Louis can make out some vague shouting and then a door slamming. “Wait, are you with Louis?”

“Yeah, he’s here,” Harry affirms. “Just… hurry, please?”

“On my way,” she says, then her voice lowers so Louis can’t make out what she’s saying.

“Love you too,” Harry mumbles, then hangs up the phone and slumps in his seat. Louis isn’t sure what to say or do, really, so they sit there in silence until Lily bristles back in, offering them more tea and a jammy dodger.

“Thank you, really, but we won’t be in your way too much longer,” Louis politely declines. “Harry’s sister only lives in Edgware so she shouldn’t be long.”

“Ahh, good to hear,” Lily nods. “Not that I want you out of my hair, of course. But you should be where you feel safe at a time like this.”

“Thanks for taking us in for a bit,” Louis says with a hollow laugh. “I’m sorry we couldn’t meet properly under better circumstances.”

Before Lily can respond there’s a knock on the door. “That’ll be your sister, I’m guessing,” she says, moving past them and into the hallway. She opens the door and then barely a second later a wide-eyed Gemma is stood behind them. Harry jumps to his feet and launches himself into her arms before Louis can register what’s happening.

“ _Haz,_ ” she says gently, squeezing him tight. “Oh, honey. _Harry_.”

“Hey, Gems,” Louis croaks, giving her a weak wave. He doesn’t have time to protest before he’s being yanked into her arms too, crushed almost painfully against Harry’s shoulder.

“This is such bullshit,” she says loudly. “Who did this? What happened? What did you guys lose?”

“So much stuff,” Harry says miserably. “Both our laptops, the tellies, my iPad, Louis’s iMac, my clothes, Louis’s make-up, half the bloody kitchen.”

“Absolute bastards,” Gemma hisses. She pulls back and rakes her eyes up and down them both, first Harry and then Louis. “But you two are fine though, right? You’re not hurt?”

Harry shakes his head. “Just, like, sad.”

“Oh, Harry,” Gemma says sadly, wrapping an arm around his waist. “Come on, you two, let’s get you home.”

With Lily’s help, the four of them get all their stuff out the house in one trip. Lily gives them brief hugs as Gemma loads up the boot, then they both scramble into the backseat. Ross is sat at the wheel, fingers drumming away to a rock song blaring through the speakers, but he hurries to turn it down.

“Shit, lads,” he says, staring them down in the rear-view mirror. “I’m so sorry.”

“Cheers,” Louis says hoarsely. He makes the move to buckle his seatbelt but before he can he’s being pulled into a shaky hug. Harry’s arms wrap around his middle and Louis curls his around his shoulders, pressing a kiss into his matted hair. “Hey, love. What’s up?”

“Feel rubbish,” Harry mumbles, sad and lost. Louis pushes himself as close to him as possible and strokes at his hair, whispering weak words of reassurance. Harry whimpers, cutting him off, and when he moves up to look at Louis his eyes are shiny, scared and tired. He looks so _young._ “Need you.”

“I’m here,” Louis promises, taking a deep breath as he tries to hold back tears. He’s really not sure how they’re going to bounce back from this right now, and he’s scared to even try and think ahead.

The car drives out of their street and away from their little house, and all Louis can do is bite his lip and cling to Harry a little tighter.

*

“Hi, darling,” Louis greets, barely looking both ways before he crosses the street and barrels into Harry’s arms. Harry tuts but kisses his forehead, then holds out his hand for Louis to take. “Fancy meeting you here.”

“Indeed,” Harry replies. “I have a good feeling about this one, you know. Lucky number seven and all that.” He swings Louis’s hand up and down, then they pause at another crossroad and he gets the chance to dig around in his pocket for his little notebook. “Apparently this one is three bedroom, two bathroom, open plan kitchen/diner and it’s a pet-friendly building too.”

“All great things,” Louis says with a grin. “How much?”

“I mean, top end of our budget but it is in Kensington,” Harry says. “We always said we wanted Kensington, didn’t we?”

“We certainly did,” Louis says, already feeling a little giddy. He has a good feeling about this one too, and not just because he’s desperate to move them back out of Gemma’s and into a new place as soon as possible. This one seems to have the perfect location, close to a Tube station and loads of shops and restaurants, and in all honesty Louis never thought they’d be able to look at properties here, he really didn’t. But coupled with their insurance pay-out, the huge cash sum Harry’s just received from his latest ad campaign with Givenchy, and the rapidly increasing chunks of money that Louis’s receiving from his blog and YouTube channel, they’re doing better than ever. It baffles Louis that this time eighteen months ago he and Harry could barely afford branded food, and now they’ve got a house budget similar to a lottery jackpot. Their mortgage payments won’t be cheap for the next few years, but their financial advisor has drafted a plan that seems realistic and should be easy to stick to if things keep going as they’re going.

And with Harry’s rise to fame and Louis’s strange but incredibly flattering popularity in the make-up world, it feels like it could happen. Neither of them has any intentions of slowing down and Louis absolutely feels like they’ve earned this. They deserve this.

“Here we are,” Harry announces, snapping Louis out of his reverie. “Stafford Court, Kensington. Are you ready?”

“To live in a place like this?” Louis smirks. “Probably not. I had a Pot Noodle for my breakfast.” He squeezes Harry’s hand. “Are you?”

“Absolutely not,” Harry answers. “I can’t wait.”

“Me neither,” Louis grins happily, then turns to give him a big kiss. “Shall we go in? Is Martina meeting us in there?”

“Think so,” Harry nods. Martina, their estate agent, has been a gift in this whole process, finding them new releases and hidden gems in places neither of them would have thought to look. “She said to buzz the door because she’ll be up there already and I don’t think anyone’s living there at the moment.”

“Brilliant,” Louis says, kissing Harry’s shoulder as they walk through the door and into the lobby. It’s huge, all white marble and expensive glass decorations and tall glasses with fresh-cut flowers in them. There’s a desk with a young bloke sat behind it, who greets them with a blinding smile as they enter.

He directs them into the lifts and explains that they use a fingerprint system rather than a key card system before he uses his own thumbprint to send them up. The lift ping open and Louis loses Harry almost immediately to the gorgeous fireplace, marble and engraved with an extravagant filigree design, but the first thing he’s drawn to is the bright gorgeous view of London he’d be eating his breakfast with every day.  He’s pretty much sold on that, until Martina emerges from the kitchen and points him towards the room she thinks would be his perfect make-up room.

She’s not wrong. He has no idea how long he stands in the doorway looking inside, stunned, because it is quite literally perfect. He’d look at it for a lot longer, probably, if he hadn’t felt Harry come up behind him and rub a thumb over the top of his shoulder.

“You look so happy,” he murmurs, pulling Louis flush against his chest. “This is your room, isn’t it? This is _the_ room.”

Louis nods. “Truly I could never settle for anything less,” he drawls, then he spins in Harry’s arms and wraps his arms tightly around his back. “No, seriously, I love it. I love this flat. I love the living space and the beauty room and the master bedroom is fucking huge.” He tilts his head to the left, then asks, “do you like the kitchen?”

“I do like the kitchen,” Harry grins. “I had a good old nose in there while you were in here. It’s a good kitchen.”

“And do you, young Harry, see yourself living here with me, an angel?” Louis asks, swaying them from side to side. “Do you see yourself cooking me breakfast every morning in said kitchen while I glamourise myself in my new beauty space?”

“Pretty sure glamourise is not a word, Lou,” Harry says smugly, but he’s nodding. “Yes, yes, I do. Let’s live here, shall we?”

Louis beams. “It’s that easy, is it?”

“It’s that easy,” Harry parrots back, shaking his head almost disbelievingly. He leans in closer to Louis, whispering the next words like they’re a secret. “Lou. We can afford this place, can you believe that?”

“No,” Louis whispers. He can’t stop smiling. “I can’t. But I want it.”

“In that case,” Harry says, and despite the fact they can hear Martina clearing her throat behind them he pulls Louis into a sweet kiss anyway, “welcome home, baby.”

“Welcome home too, my love,” Louis echoes, then lets Harry go. “Okay, we’re, um, we’re decided.”

Martina laughs. “I knew you’d love this one, it’s a great property and I think it’ll suit you two right down to the ground.” She reaches forward and shakes both their hands. “Do you want to accompany back to the office and we’ll get the ball rolling?”

“Yes,” Louis says immediately, which makes Martina laugh harder.

“Okay, well, let’s go then,” she says, holding out her arm for them to walk out first. “Congratulations on the new home.”

*

Waking up on a waterbed really is glorious.

Louis blinks sleepily a few times, hand tucked under his pillow and the other dangling off the end of the bed, and it takes him a couple of seconds to twig exactly where he is.

Oh, right. His brand new high-rise flat complete with make-up room, waterbed, and whirlpool bath in Kensington. No big deal.

He grins despite the tiredness in his bones and makes the move to roll over, where he’s greeted with the glorious sight of a sleeping Harry. His hair is all over the place and his nose is furrowed rather adorably, snuffling like he’s dreaming. Louis can’t help but watch him for a few minutes, gently linking his finger around one of Harry’s. Harry doesn’t stir but he lets Louis hold him, and Louis grins and ducks his head to press a tiny kiss onto Harry’s thumbnail.

Because of the move they both asked for a few days off, and thankfully neither of them have anywhere to be until the day after tomorrow. Vague plans about going to IKEA and Habitat had been thrown around over chicken fried rice and chips in curry sauce last night, but Louis doesn’t see the need to rush, nor does he really want to wake Harry or move himself. He lazily stretches just enough to click his back then settles back against the pillows, blindly reaching for his phone on his bedside table.

He checks Twitter and answers a couple of easy questions that have been sent his way, then clicks back to his timeline and scrolls through it, not really paying a lot of attention. Someone famous that Louis’s never heard of appears to have died, and everyone else seems to be talking about the latest moon landing and the Oscar nominations. Nothing particularly life-changing, at least not for Louis, but then he spots a Daily Mail article with Harry’s name in the title so without really thinking he thumbs it open and waits for it to load.

From what he can tell, the article itself is pretty mundane. It’s talking about his and Harry’s new place, and if he didn’t know just how good the security around their complex was and how big London is in general, he’d be concerned about how crystal clear the shots are. Most, however, seem to just be taken from the estate agent’s website, which in Louis’s humble opinion is pretty lazy journalism. In fact, he’s just about ready to click out of it when he sees the line that makes his eyes practically bug out of his skull.

_Styles, who in the past has been romantically linked with the likes of Nick Grimshaw and Jack Whitehall, is said to be sharing his new home with his current beau, YouTuber and make-up artist to the stars Louis Tomlinson. The pair were seen in Tesco two nights ago laughing and joking, stocking up on fresh fruit and veg and even sharing a cheeky snog up against a freezer door._

He clicks out the article at speed, locking his phone and dropping it onto the carpet before he rolls back over and tugs the duvet up his body like a protective cocoon. The words sting, and he suddenly wants Harry to wake up and kiss him and tell him it’s all complete rubbish even though he knows it’s daft.

“Romantically linked,” he scoffs aloud, nibbling on his thumbnail. “Romantically linked, my fucking arse.”

He wasn’t even aware _himself_ that Harry had been linked with other people that weren’t him. He’s been with Harry for so long at this point it hadn’t even crossed his mind, but since Harry’s fame had gone from indie status to almost a household name, he’s forgotten that more and more articles were getting written about him, both praising him and also dragging him through the dirt.

That article is a great example and probably the definition of mundane. He and Harry had had a chat ages ago about reading articles and they both agreed that they probably wouldn’t bother, what with ignorance being bliss and all that. But now all Louis can see are the words _romantically involved_ and _current beau_ whirring round in his head, and he understands why he and Harry made the agreement in the first place.

“Boyfriend,” he says firmly to himself, then reaches for Harry’s hand again. “I’m your boyfriend.”

Harry doesn’t respond. Louis sighs and lets his head loll back against the pillow, something akin to sadness creeping into his belly and settling there, heavy like a rock. After a couple of minutes, he realises that the feeling is humiliation more than anything, because that’s what they’ve tried to do to him. They’ve belittled him and they’ve made him seem like a passing fashion to the person he loves most, and they want people to talk and stir rumours. And while he doesn’t doubt Harry for a single second, he could really do with him waking up and telling him that, daft as that sounds, even to himself.

“Boyfriend,” he says again. “Soon to be fiancé. Love of my life.”

“Who are you talking to?” Harry’s voice cuts in, still heavy with sleep. Louis lets out a groan and practically dives into Harry’s arms, tugging one across his shoulders and pressing as close to him as possible. Harry splutters, but he bundles Louis up clumsily. “Hey, _hey,_ Lou. What’s up?”

“I love you,” is all Louis offers at first, kissing Harry’s shoulder and then tucking his face into Harry’s neck. Harry moves to cuddle him in, rolling over onto his side so he’s holding him a lot closer. He kisses the top of Louis’s head and then yawns.

“Love you too,” he assures, and Louis’s heart leaps a bit in his chest. “You smell good.”

Louis chuckles softly, tightening his grip on his lover and smiling into his chest. “Thank you,” he says. “I’m so glad you’re awake.”

Harry snorts. “Are you okay?” he asks, pulling back ever so slightly, eyes racking over Louis’s face. “You don’t sound okay.”

“I’m okay,” Louis says tightly, then hides his face in Harry’s chest again. “I just missed you while you were sleeping, is all.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Harry murmurs, and Louis knows he doesn’t believe him. Harry knows him better than anyone. Harry _loves_ him. Harry wants to make him happy. So Louis sighs and he bites the bullet.

“Okay, I’m a little upset,” he admits. Harry doesn’t say anything for a few seconds, he simply kisses Louis’s forehead and waits for Louis to be ready. Louis lets himself be cuddled for a couple more minutes, breathing in the smell of home and Harry that he loves so much, before he says, “I read an article on the Daily Mail.”

He feels Harry’s sigh more than he hears it. “Babe,” Harry says softly, pulling back enough to look him directly in the eye. “What on earth did you do that for, you daft old thing?”

Louis shrugs against the pillows. “Dunno really. It was on my Twitter timeline and I couldn’t help myself.”

“Well, I can guarantee whatever they said is complete crap,” Harry tells him. “Was it about you or about me?”

“About you,” Louis explains. “It was saying how you’d just bought a new two million pound home in Kensington for yourself and your _current beau._ ” He spits the last two words out like they’re poisonous. “Oh, and it mentioned some other men you’ve been romantically linked with. Didn’t know you were shagging Nick Grimshaw, darling.”

“Hey,” Harry says, sounding slightly affronted. “Don’t take this out on me. You know damn well you’re not my current beau.”

“I bloody well am,” Louis starts to argue, but Harry cuts him off.

“You’re my bloody forever beau, you piece of shit,” he says firmly. “Jesus, Louis, you’ve been my _beau_ for years. We’re practically married at this point and you’ve let some shitty little article get under your skin? Why, babe? You’re not like this, not ever.”

“Dunno,” Louis scowls. “I just… I’m just bitter, I guess. I love you so much it hurts sometimes, and I guess I just got jealous and it’s silly, I know it is, but I…”

“I love you, Louis,” Harry says again, quiet but sure. “I’m gonna spend the rest of my life with you whether the Daily Mail likes it or not.”

Louis doesn’t know what to say to that. He presses his lips together and blinks a few times so he doesn’t do something stupid like cry or propose to Harry on the spot, and instead he brings both of Harry’s hands to his mouth and brushes kisses over his knuckles.

“I…” he starts, but his voice comes out a little strangled so he pauses for a second. Harry’s grinning, still looking a bit sleepy but also completely beautiful and Louis’s favourite thing in the whole world. “God, I fucking hate how much I love your hairy arse.”

“My hairy arse loves you back,” Harry smirks. “It appreciates all of you and the time you dedicate to its cause.”

Louis rolls his eyes. “Kiss me,” he demands, then presses forward before Harry can reply. He licks into Harry’s mouth, morning breath be fucked, and Harry grins and cradles Louis’s face in his hands, nudging their noses together and tangling their legs. It’s the kind of kiss that makes Louis’s head spin, even after all these years, and he doesn’t think he’s ever going to get tired of it. It’s the kind of kiss that’s grounding, that’s just for him and Harry and nobody else in the world, and even though he’s still pissed off and irritated at the article he’s in his (virtually) marital bed and he has no intention of leaving it any time soon.

“Hey,” Harry murmurs as they break apart. He settles them a little higher on the pillows, a soft hand tracing up and down the tattoos on Louis’s arm. “Fuck the Daily Mail, yeah? Like, I don’t really care if you read the articles but you’re a smart person, Louis. You know as well as I do what that shit is like.” He takes Louis’s chin in between his fingers and plants another firm kiss to his mouth. “Trust me, yeah?”

Louis can’t help but roll his eyes again. “I do trust you, dickhead,” he tuts. “I don’t even know why it got to me, to be honest. I know I’m a bit more than just your _current beau._ ”

“Good,” Harry says, then grins. “Wanna take a silly selfie and post it on Instagram?”

Louis barks a laugh. “What on earth for?”

“I wanna hashtag it #currentbeau,” Harry giggles, already reaching blindly behind him for his phone. “Maybe even hashtag fuck the Daily Mail too.”

Normally, Louis would never agree to this, especially not before he’s done his hair, but today he’ll make an exception, he thinks. “Go on then,” he says, running his fingers through his fringe quickly before he sits up a little, the duvet falling down to his waist. “But only if I can approve it first.”

Harry tuts. “Wouldn’t dare post it without your approval,” he laughs. “Now come here, you. Tuck under my arm like this.”

Louis does as he’s told, pressing himself into Harry’s bare side and resting a hand on his chest. His sleep shirt bunches up as Harry slides his free hand up Louis’s back, supporting him upright enough so they can get both their faces into the photo. Out of habit, Louis crosses his eyes and turns his mouth up into a funny face, and Harry catches a glance and ends up throwing his head back in a laugh as the camera flashes.

“You twat,” he huffs as he lets go of Louis’s weight and leans back against the pillows. “We’re definitely gonna have to take another one now.”

“Let me see,” Louis demands. He snatches the phone and unlocks it easily, laughing as the photo flashes onto the little screen. “Oh my god, oh my _god._ I love it. It’s fucking hideous, I fucking _love_ it.”

Harry nips at his shoulder then snatches the phone back. “As you wish,” he says airily, opening up Instagram. He taps a filter over the top and then types out the caption, and posts it. Grinning, he locks the phone and slides it back onto the bedside table, then rolls over and pushes himself up onto his arms so he’s hovering over Louis with a huge dopey grin on his face. “There. All done.” He kisses Louis once, too quickly for Louis to properly kiss back. “All mine.”

“You’re a massive loser,” Louis cackles, squirming and yelping as Harry digs his fingers into his sides in retaliation. “Ow, _ow,_ fuck _off._ Ow. You’re also a fucking bully.”

“Tell me you love me,” Harry grunts, and keeps poking at Louis’s tummy and hips. “Tell me I’m your one and only too.”

“You’re… _ow,_ you bastard… I love you,” Louis howls, kicking his legs up and trying (and failing) to wriggle out of Harry’s hold. “I love you the most, now put me down.”

“Thank you,” Harry says, joining their lips together before Louis can shift away. “I love you too.”

Louis groans but he wraps his arms around Harry’s neck and lets himself be kissed for a long time. Eventually they pull apart, and Harry checks his phone to find the photo has fifty thousand likes and nearly seven thousand comments. Louis spends the rest of the day with his head in the clouds.

(And maybe when they go to IKEA later that day, Louis takes a cheeky selfie of them snogging against a wardrobe and posts it to his Twitter. Later, it turns out a fan makes the connection between the two pictures and the Daily Mail article and posted about it on their blog, and now it seems a lot of people are kicking off at the newspaper on their behalf. Louis feels very smug and a lot in love for the rest of the day.)

*


	7. Naked (1, 2, and 3)

*****

**_“_ ** _He is more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same” – Emily Brontë_

*****

“We’re going to Paris.”

“Excuse me?” Louis asks with his mouth full. He’s running quite late for work – which this morning is a photoshoot with Dani for Topshop - and he’s got about five minutes to eat his food, chug his tea, clean his teeth, and get in a cab. What he does _not_ have time for is Harry’s strange demands.

“We’re going to Paris,” Harry repeats, sipping his own tea slowly. He’s naked, leaning against the kitchen counter without a care in the world, and Louis rather hates him for having the day off when he doesn’t. “Tonight. For the Bank Holiday weekend.” He sips his tea again. “I’ll pack a bag for you while you’re at work if you want, babe.”

Louis shoots daggers at him. “What do you mean, we’re going to Paris?” he says, eyes narrowing. “Why did you book a trip without telling me, you arsehole?”

“I mean, I am taking your stressed little self away from London, away from your work, and taking you to Paris,” Harry says, grinning as he enunciates each word almost patronisingly slowly. “We are going tonight whether you like it or not.”

Louis groans and pushes himself back from the table, scurrying into the bathroom and emerging a couple of seconds later with a toothbrush in his mouth. “Don’t you fucking dare pack me a bag,” he says before he starts brushing vigorously. “You’ll forget shit.”

Harry holds up his hands. “Alright, alright. Just thought I’d offer.”

“Yaa, wall, yu fud noot betta by na,” Louis splutters. Harry raises an eyebrow and Louis lets out a sound of frustration before he ducks back into the bathroom to spit. “I said, you should know better by now.”

“True,” Harry says sagely, draining the last of his tea and strolling towards their bedroom. Louis sighs and finishes up cleaning his teeth, then spits out the last of the foam, gargles, and hurries back into his bedroom to grab his shoes.

“What time is our flight?” he says, perching on the bed so he can tie his laces.

“Half seven,” Harry tells him. “Can you be home for about four?”

“Harry fuckin’ Styles,” Louis growls. “You want me to leave work early, navigate my way home through London traffic, pack myself a going away bag, then get us both to Heathrow all in time to check in for a spontaneous trip to Paris?”

“Yep,” Harry smirks, popping the P and crawling across the bed to rest his hands on Louis’s tense shoulders. “Louis, Jesus. _Relax,_ baby. I’ve got it all sorted, we won’t miss our flights.”

“You’re a dick,” Louis says haughtily. “I can’t believe you’re taking me to fucking Paris.”

“I can’t believe you’re being so grumpy about it,” Harry deadpans. “I have a lot of plans for this weekend, babe. And let’s be honest, you need a break.”

Louis grumps, but then he lights up when he has a thought. “Can I vlog it?”

Harry sighs and kisses the side of Louis’s head. “Yes, you can vlog it, you fuckin’ YouTuber.”

“Yessss,” Louis concedes happily, fist pumping the air. He turns his head just enough to kiss Harry’s cheek, then he jumps to his feet. “Fuck, I’m so late. I’ll see you when I see you then.”

“Leave as early as you can,” Harry calls after him. “Fake a headache. Drink salty water to make yourself vomit or something. Oh, and I love you!”

“Love you too,” Louis calls, grinning to himself before grabbing his bags and then scuttling for the lift. He presses the button for the ground floor continuously even though he’s pretty sure that won’t change the speed (it’s the thought that counts) and then hurries out of there. He spares the doorman a quick wave on his way, then hails the first taxi he sees to get him into work.

He’s only two minutes late, in the end, so he counts that as a win.

But all day he’s distracted, because all he can think about is going home and then getting whisked off to Paris later. For all his gripes and his telling offs to Harry this morning, he’s actually really excited. He hasn’t been to Paris in a couple of years, and even though there’s talk that he’s going to go early next year a couple of times (once to prepare for PFW and once actually for the week itself), he’s excited to go with Harry and do predictable touristy things and eat a lot of cheese and bread and have lots of hotel sex. Those are three of his favourite things, after all.

“Louis?” Cara says, snapping him out of his daydream. “Louis, I love you and all, but what the fuck have you done to my brows?”

“Shit,” he hisses, grabbing a spooly and hurriedly combing them out to something a lot less aggressive. “Shit, sorry, babe. I’m a million miles away today.”

“I can tell,” she drawls, dusting her finger very lightly along her newly shaped eyebrow. “You look stressed, darling. You could do with a holiday or something.”

Louis’s eyes narrow. “What did you say?”

“I said, you could use a holiday or something,” Cara repeats, then taps the side of her nose knowingly. “Tell me, Lou, what are your plans for the weekend?”

Behind them, Dani starts laughing, and Louis watches his cheeks go pink in the big mirror in front of them. “What’s going on?” he asks loudly. “What do you all know that I don’t?”

“Nothing,” Dani and Cara say in perfect unison, voices high and dripping with faux innocence. “We just want to know your plans for the weekend, that’s all.”

“Something is afoot,” Louis decides, still suspicious. He cuts off any remark Cara’s about to throw his way by picking up a huge powder brush and dusting it over her face with unnecessary force. “What’s Harry doing? What do you know?”

“I don’t know anything,” Dani insists. “When would I get the chance to talk to Harry anyway?”

“Hmm,” Louis hums, unconvinced. “I still don’t trust you. You’re both lying to me and I don’t like it.”

They both gasp, and Louis can’t help but roll his eyes. “We would never,” Cara says, sounding offended. “Not to our very best friend Lou.”

“We love our Lou,” Dani says, abandoning her brush cleaning to come over and wrap her arms around his shoulders. “We’re just glad you’re getting the break you finally deserve.”

Louis hugs Dani back, a little bewildered. “Okay…” he says slowly, then raises a brow as Cara claps her hands happily. “You two are still being weird though. You never tell me you love me.”

“We really, really do though,” Cara says, giving him a quick peck on the cheek. “You’re the best make-up artist and friend. You’re so…”

“Do you need to borrow money, is that it?” Louis interrupts curiously. “Do you need a lift home? Because I got a taxi this morning.”

“No,” Cara says, pressing her hands together and staring up at him fondly. “I’m just a big fan of you, Louis. You’re one of the good ones. You and Harry.”

Everyone’s a little funny around Louis for the rest of the day and he spends a lot of his time peering over an imaginary pair of glasses at everyone whose very over-complimentary or gives him a hug when they’d normally just wave goodbye. He does end up leaving early, mainly because he’s run out of things to do at this shoot, but also because Dani said she had him covered. He doesn’t push even though he wants to, and instead hops straight in a cab and gets home just before the traffic rush hour really hits.

“Baby?” he calls as he hops out the lift, giddy with excitement because _he’s going to Paris._ And he immediately forgets to tell Harry about how weird everyone was being at work because Harry emerges wearing absolutely nothing at all, and suddenly talking isn’t really at the forefront of Louis’s mind (hence the ‘nnggh’ sound that comes out of his mouth).

Harry grins, hands on hips. “Hello,” he says brightly. “Good day at work?”

“It was fine,” Louis says hoarsely. Harry has such a lovely dick. “Um… I… Paris?”

“Oh, yeah,” Harry nods, beckoning to Louis rather unnecessarily before he pulls him into the bedroom. “I bought you a couple of going away presents today.”

“Going away presents?” Louis coughs, his voice magically reappearing at the mention of gifts. “Are we eloping and moving to Paris then?”

If Louis wasn’t so animated, he might have noticed Harry tense up a little at his words, but fortunately for them both he doesn’t. Instead Harry pastes on a bright grin and shakes his head before he hands Louis a hastily wrapped box. “Here,” he says. “For you, my love.”

Louis stretches up onto his tippy toes and plants a kiss on Harry’s lips before he opens it. “You’re too good to me,” he hums, then rips off the paper rather excitedly. On the front of the box is a watch, and for a second Louis wants to gasp and snog Harry senseless before he puts two and two together and realises that this is the box for Harry’s watch. “Oh.” He stares up at him pointedly. “You’re giving me your watch?”

“No, silly Louis,” Harry sighs. “Open it.”

Louis fights the urge to roll his eyes and does as he’s told. Inside is a folded up piece of paper, so he drops the box to the floor rather unceremoniously and unfolds it with a grin. “ _Oh._ ”

“How’s that?” Harry grins. “That good enough for you?”

“You fucking dick,” Louis breathes, then launches himself at Harry and kisses wherever he can reach. “You… fucking… _dick…_ with… too… much… money.”

Harry shrugs. “Yes, it was a little extravagant but tonight we get to fuck in the Hotel d’Louvre and I can’t imagine that’s a bad thing,” he muses. “Do you want to go now?”

“I always wanted to go,” Louis says indignantly. “I just didn’t want you to pack for me.” He glances at his watch and gasps, panicked, then looks up at Harry. “Shit, what time’s our flight?”

“Whenever we want it to be,” Harry smirks. “Private hire plane, innit.”

“What the _fuck?_ ” Louis yelps, shaking his head in disbelief. “You love me this much, eh?” He puts his hands on his hips. “What have you done, Harry? Who did you kill? What do you need to tell me that’s so detrimental?”

Harry blinks back at him. “Um,” he says stupidly. “Nothing?”

“Nothing?” Louis shrills. “So you’re just doing this because you love me or something?”

“Well, why else would I be doing it?” Harry says, baffled. “What are you talking about?”

“I… nothing,” Louis rasps fondly, reaching for Harry’s hands and then pulling him into a painfully tight hug. Sometimes the reality of their lives hits him a little hard and he needs the time to take it all in and remember that they _can_ afford this and Harry _wants_ to do this for him. It’s still funny to him because three years ago they had not a lot and now they have more than enough, and he _loves_ it. “I love it. I love you.”

“Mmm, I love you,” Harry mumbles before he draws him in for a sweet kiss. It’s fittingly short, and when they part Harry tilts his head towards the bedroom. “Go pack, come on, you.”

“Says the naked man all up in my space,” Louis tuts, but he does as he’s told. “So we’re going until Monday then?”

Harry nods. “Pack for a few days and at least one nice meal out.”

“I’ll make that two because you’ve gotta let me treat you too,” Louis says resolutely. “You can’t take me to Paris and expect to do all the wooing.”

“Oh, baby,” Harry laughs. “You have no idea how hard I’m going to woo your lovely arse.”

Louis really doesn’t have any idea how hard Harry’s about to woo him, so in a bid to get one up before Harry makes him cry with unbearable fond he tackles him to the bed and tries to woo him early. It makes them rather worryingly late for their plane but apparently Harry called in a favour with Jeff and the pilot barely spares them a glance as they board.

Harry has too much power, Louis decides. He also decides that he must have died and gone to heaven and he wants to thank whatever deity gave him a supermodel boyfriend with a seemingly impenetrable wallet. He’s on a plane with sofas and a mini-fridge and he’s going to _Paris._ What the _fuck._

“What the fuck what?” Harry asks, and whoops, Louis hadn’t meant to say that aloud. He comes up behind Louis and wraps his arms around his shoulders, jostling them gently. “Too much?”

“Too much,” Louis scoffs. He slaps Harry lightly on the arm. “You fuckin’ dick. You’re so… so…”

He feels Harry grin into his hair and then a kiss is pressed to the back of his neck before Harry moves away. “Come sit down,” he says, plopping down on the sofa and holding out an arm for Louis to crawl under. “The plane’s gonna take off in, like, five minutes. I’d rather you were buckled in for it.”

“Yes, alright,” Louis says as he trundles over, curling himself under Harry’s arm and cuddling him in. “God, you’re a needy thing.”

“Only as needy as you make me,” Harry says cheerfully. “What do you wanna do then? Watch a film?”

Louis waggles his eyebrows. “Join the Mile High Club?”

“Again?”

Louis snorts. “The first time didn’t count. We were teenagers and we were on our way to Ayia Napa.”

“It counts, I came in my pants,” Harry complains, then goes bright red as the door to the cockpit slides open and the pilot approaches, eyebrows raised. “Ummm, oops?”

 “Indeed,” the pilot says dryly. “I’m just here for the usual safety announcements, is that okay?”

Louis laughs into Harry’s shoulder for most of the safety announcements, and bless him, he’s radiating heat and he’s clearly a very embarrassed young man. Once the pilot leaves Louis allows himself to let out the big belly laugh he’s been holding in, snorting into the back of his hand.

“You utter fucknugget,” Harry complains, pushing him away. “You were absolutely no help at all. You just let me say _that,_ with no regard for mine or the pilot’s feelings…”

“Bet he’s gonna be watching us now,” Louis keeps on giggling. He brushes his hair from his eyes then laughs even louder as he catches a glimpse of Harry’s indignant pout. “Oh, come on, baby. Join the Mile High Club with me.”

“No,” says Harry flatly. He crosses his arms. “I’m never having sex with you again.”

Louis raises his eyebrows. “Harry. We are going to Paris.” He matches Harry’s vexed stance. “Shall I just get off the plane right now?”

“Do what you like,” Harry hums, pretending to inspect his nails. Louis sighs and quite literally throws himself at his boyfriend until he yelps and practically doubles over, nearly throwing Louis to the floor in the process. “O _w, Louis,_ you _fucker._ ”

“Gentlemen, we’re clearing for take-off,” the pilot shrills over the intercom, which makes them both jump, still, glance at each other, and then burst out laughing. He does not sound like a happy man. “Please sit up and fasten your seatbelts.”

“He hates us,” Louis mouths at Harry desperately. Harry shakes his head and keeps chuckling as they untangle themselves from one another and buckle in.

“I hate him,” he whispers back when Louis turns his attention back to him. “I’m gonna kill Jeff.”

Louis snorts. “Did Jeff pick this punk on purpose?”

Harry shrugs. “Probably. Probably payback for me asking for a private plane to Paris on Monday night.”

“And here’s me thinking I’m dating the biggest, loveliest romantic on the planet,” Louis drawls sardonically, “and here he is telling me he only decided to take me on this romantic trip four days ago.”

“Spontaneity is sexy,” Harry reminds him. The plane lurches into action all of a sudden and it startles them both. “And it’s going to be a lovely weekend, so will you stop being such a shitbag and tell me you love me?”

“I love me,” Louis beams, then settles happily against the comfy sofa. He could really get used to flying like this. “I think I’m gonna nap this one out. Will you wake me when we’re en France?”

“I don’t know why I love you,” Harry grumbles, but they both know he’s going to do as Louis asks. He’s rubbish at saying no.

Louis falls asleep with a smile on his face.

*

Once they land in Paris a pre-booked car takes them to their lavish hotel. Louis practically hangs out the car window like a dog for the entire ride because, well, for a start he loves being a tourist, but also because there’s just something about Paris he can never get enough of. It’s been a fair few years since he was last here and now to be here again with Harry is just so _exciting,_ especially because he suspects his lovely man has a hundred more tricks up his sleeve that Louis is going to love.

The hotel is grand and gorgeous, and there are paps lurking outside once they pull up. It’s enough for Louis to raise his eyebrows curiously, but Harry waves his hand and quickly dismisses any concerns he may have about them getting caught up by them as the car steers them round to the back entrance.

“I forget you’re quite famous,” Louis says, grinning but not really meaning it. Paps seem to be almost everywhere they go these days and he would absolutely pay extra for a few days without them, thank you very much.

Harry, however, just snorts. “I don’t think they’re here for me, babe. Unless Jeff rang them and told them, but I doubt that. I think he knows by now I’d have his nutsack for that.”

“Hmm,” Louis hums idly. “As long as our weekend is kept sacred then whatever.”

“Of course,” Harry promises. “Very sacred. That’s why I asked him to take us round the back, you know, just in case.”

The driver pulls the car to a half outside the back entrance and, after a couple seconds of faffing, opens the door on Louis’s side. Louis hops out and Harry follows. They collect their bags from the boot and head through the door and into the hotel without any fuss.

“It almost doesn’t feel right that you’re checking us in,” Louis moans as Harry rifles through his Louis Vuitton carry-on bag for their booking details. “You’re _my_ baby, remember? I should be treating you.”

Harry looks at him blankly. “Louis,” he says after a few short seconds. “Louis, I love you very much, really I do, but you’re really rather rubbish at being spontaneous.”

“I am _not,_ ” Louis almost shouts, offended. Harry slaps him on the arms and he shuts up but keeps pouting. “I am not, Harry, you take that back."

“When was the last time you surprised me with something?” Harry sighs before he moves to the counter. He doesn’t sound pissy, thank god, more just amused. Louis racks his brains as Harry checks them in and collects their keys, and once they’re in the lift he slaps Harry back and yells triumphantly.

“Aha!”

“Louis,” Harry scolds. Louis isn’t listening.

“I bought you lunch about a fortnight ago,” he proclaims proudly. “A tuna mayo baguette with extra cucumber and one of those ridiculously expensive fruity smoothies you love so much.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t count because I had to text you,” Harry argues. “And that was because I’d forgotten my salad at home.”

“Ah, yes, but,” Louis barrels on, “you didn’t say where to go or what you wanted, so I surprised you by going to your favourite sandwich shop.”

“I…” Harry starts, then just sighs as the lift doors ping open and they step out onto their floor. “Yes, you are correct. You are a creature of vast spontaneity. How will I ever compete?”

“Shut up,” Louis huffs. “You’ve gotta give me some credit for that or else I just look like the world’s lamest boyfriend who does nothing for his other half.”

“You do stuff when I ask you to,” Harry says simply. He pauses. “Well, most of the time.”

“Oh, god, I’m a waste,” Louis whines. “My own boyfriend thinks I’m a massive waste.”

“Oh, shut up,” Harry tells him firmly before he pops the card key into the door and it beeps open. “Shut up and enjoy this view with me.”

He pushes the door open and Louis moves through with a stupid grin on his face. The room is _gorgeous,_ truly stunning, comprising of black, white and gold furnishings with a huge wide window on one side. Lots of art covers the walls and there’s a huge telly and sofa towards the front and two doors to the side. Louis assumes one leads to the bathroom (it does, and the bathroom itself is probably bigger than their entire first flat), and when he tries the other door it opens a huge cupboard with a mini-fridge at the bottom.

Unable to resist the excitement mini-fridges offer even at the tender age of twenty-six, Louis bends down and opens it, then whoops loudly when he sees what’s inside.

“Champagne!” he cheers. There’s a tag hanging around the bottle neck and he flips it over, grinning as he reads the loopy scrawl. “Compliments of the hotel, too.”

“Celebrity perks,” Harry smirks. “But we’d totally be able to afford it anyway, isn’t that mad?” He claps his hands. “Here, are there glasses in the cupboard?”

Louis shakes his head. “Nope… _oh,_ there they are.” He gestures to the wide oak table behind where Harry’s standing. “Do you want to do the honours?”

“No, you know those things freak me out,” says Harry, pulling a face. “Do it over the bathroom sink.”

“But where’s the fun in that?” Louis complains. Harry tuts. “Oh, _fine._ ”

“Twist the bottle, not the cork,” Harry calls as he goes. Louis can’t help but mimic the words under his breath as he goes, but he does as Harry says (he did used to work in a bar, after all). He holds the bottle at arm’s length before he carefully twists the cork out. Fizzy liquid spills over his fingers and he slurps it off, then trots back into the main bedroom, kicking his shoes off as he goes.

Harry’s perched on the edge of the bed, shirtless and barefooted. He’s dangling the two champagne flutes between the fingers of one of his huge hands, and he winks at Louis once he’s remerged. “Hello.”

“Bonjour,” Louis smirks, scuttling over to the bed and flopping down onto the mattress. Harry breaks his sultry expression to squawk and reach for the bottle, but Louis moves out the way easily and takes a swig directly from it. “Oooh, too slow, Styles.”

“Give me that,” Harry demands. He grabs the bottle and hands Louis his glass, then fills them up right to the top. “Cheers.”

“Cheers, my love,” Louis says with a big grin. He leans forward and fits his hand into the front of Harry’s trousers, tugging him forward for a sloppy kiss. “Je t’aime.”

“Je t’aime aussi,” Harry murmurs. “Thank you for coming to Paris with me.”

“Thank you for bringing me to Paris, you big old sap,” Louis says. They clink glasses and sip their champagne slowly, bodies pressed close. “Are you hungry?”

“A bit, yeah,” Harry admits, and as if on cue his stomach starts to rumble, which makes them both laugh again. “Are you?”

“Yeah, I’m starving,” Louis tells him. “What do you wanna eat?”

“I’m happy with room service,” Harry starts, but Louis shushes him.

“We are in Paris,” he says exasperatedly, shaking his head. “We didn’t travel on that plane with that dickhead pilot to sit in a bedroom and eat cold chips.”

“It’s a five star hotel, Lou,” Harry argues weakly.

“Whatever.” Louis dismisses him with a wave of his hand. He’s already made up his mind. “The point is, let’s go out in Paris and eat something lovely” He waggles his eyebrows. “And also let me treat you.”

Harry flushes prettily and nods, so Louis sets his glass down on the bedside table and clambers into Harry’s lap. He wraps his arms around Harry’s neck and smacks a loud kiss onto the centre of his mouth.

“You like that idea, pretty boy?”

“Yeah,” Harry says with a soft grin. “Yeah, shall we?”

“We shall,” Louis says, then kisses Harry’s nose. “You’re so cute, baby.”

“I’m happy,” Harry corrects. “I’m just so happy, Louis.”

“You big old softie.” Louis taps him on the spot he just kissed before he presses their lips together again. “You know, sometimes I just don’t know how to thank you enough.”

It’s a vague statement, and there’s a part of him that just wants to thank Harry over and over again for bringing him here to Paris, but there’s also a lot more to it than that. There’s always been a lot more to it when it comes to Harry. Because Louis wants to say thank you for spending all your time with me. Thank you for spoiling me rotten. Thank you for buying me little things like flowers almost every day just because you want me to smile. Thank you for loving me so endlessly even though I’m not spontaneous or perfect.

And luckily, Harry seems to get that too.

“Me neither,” Harry says. “I just… _Lou._ ”

“I know,” Louis agrees hoarsely, clutching him tightly. The atmosphere has suddenly become a lot more charged and Louis takes a deep breath, taking in his favourite scent in the whole wide world. “I know.”

After the sappiness and a few more soft kisses and embarrassingly sincere words have passed the pair showers, redresses and leaves their room to walk hand in hand through the Parisian streets. It’s late but not too late, so they find themselves a table in a little restaurant on one of the bustling main roads. Because it’s Paris (and you know, when in Paris…) they order a huge Camembert with crusty bread to share for their starter, followed by a big pot of mussels for Louis and a butterflied chicken breast cooked with green beans and onions for Harry. It’s decadent, rich and almost too much for them, and they end up skipping dessert, deciding to get it later if they fancy it. Louis pays the bill despite Harry’s protest (“you’ll be getting a swift kicking if you don’t shut your face, Styles,” he warns) and then they head out, bellies full and smiles big.

“Now what?” Louis asks, reaching for Harry’s hand. “Are we going back to the hotel or do you wanna find a bar or something?”

“I wanna go for a walk,” Harry decides, then starts walking them in the opposite direction. Louis goes with him easily, because knowing Harry he’s probably got a route in mind. “And then I booked us onto another surprise thingy.”

“Another surprise thingy; ooh, my favourite,” Louis says happily. “And you wanted to stay in for room service.”

“I would have dragged you out for this,” Harry grins. “This is a good one.”

“And how do you know I wouldn’t have pounced on you and ravished you to the point where you couldn’t walk?”

“I wouldn’t have let you,” Harry says simply, but it’s a very empty assurance. It makes Louis snort and squeeze his hand a bit tighter.

“Lead the way then, babe.”

They walk and they walk, stopping briefly at a twenty-four hour bakery for travel cups of hot chocolate with a shot of cherry liqueur and some sticky finger buns. They eat and drink on a little bench, then set off walking again into the night, chatting animatedly between themselves.

Louis barely registers that Harry’s walked them to the Eiffel Tower until the landmark itself is looming in front of him, and there’s just something so beautiful and romantic about this place that he can’t help but kiss Harry before they’re even at the entrance.

“Beautiful,” he hums, resting a hand against Harry’s chest. “It’s so beautiful here, Haz, oh my god.”

“I thought you’d like it,” Harry says with a soft grin, kissing Louis’s hair. “Anyway, we’re going right to the top of the Eiffel Tower so I can kiss you under the Paris stars. The most beautiful things in the world combined.”

“Sap,” Louis whines, pretending to push Harry’s face away when he dips in for another kiss. “A dreadful sap. But then again, I also agree that I am one of the most beautiful things in the world.”

Harry cackles and kisses the top of his head again. Louis shakes his head, muses his fringe a bit, then pushes his glasses back up his nose. “Shall we start climbing then?” he asks, turning in Harry’s arms. “I’m guessing we’ve got a lot of stairs to hack before we’re at the top.”

“Yeah, probably,” Harry replies, moving like he’s going to wind his arm through Louis’s, but he breaks away at the last second. “Race you,” he yells, then sprints forward before Louis knows what’s going on.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Louis screeches after him, but he runs anyway, trying and failing to channel his inner footballer. But they’re both aware that Harry is much more physically fit than he is, so it’s no surprise that Louis’s huffing and puffing by the time they join the queue while Harry’s barely broken a sweat.

“I hate you,” Louis wheezes. “I hate you so much.”

Harry’s still smirking as he draws Louis in, folding him into his arms and pressing a sloppy kiss onto his cheek. “Do I not get a kiss for winning?”

“You’ll get something,” Louis says, squirming in his hold. He tries (and fails) to punch Harry in the balls, so he settles for his shoulder instead. “I’m exhausted now.”

“We’ve got one thousand, seven hundred and ten steps to climb, so you better wake up,” Harry says cheerily. Louis groans and he laughs. “Or there are lifts. We could get the lifts up and climb the stairs back down.”

“Or… we could get the lifts both times?” Louis tries, but Harry gives him a look.

“And miss being inside but outside at the same time?” he whines. “Come on, Lou; humour me at least once here.”

“Fine,” Louis relents. “Lift up, stairs down.”

As it’s night-time, the queue isn’t too long and mainly consists of couples like them. Harry pays the entrance fee and they only get asked to pose for one photo before they pile into the lift which shoots them straight to the top.

“Wow,” Louis says once they step outside, barely louder than a whisper. It’s windy up here, windier than he thought it would be, and he drags Harry’s arm up and wraps it around his shoulders. The view is so breath-taking he has to say it again. “Wow.”

“I know right,” Harry says lowly. “There’s just… there’s just so much Paris to look at.”

Louis turns and manoeuvres them so he’s tucked up against Harry’s chest, shivering a little in the wind. “Here, shift this way with me a bit.”

“You’re staying awfully close, aren’t you?” Harry grins as they shuffle over. Louis rolls his eyes.

“It’s cold and you smell nice,” he tells him sardonically. “And anyway, we’re in Paris. It’s the most romantic city in the world. I’m being _romantic._ ”

“By clinging to me like a limpet?” Harry asks, eyebrows raised. Louis nods, making a pleased noise in the back of his throat. He settles himself back against the firmness of Harry’s taller body and together they survey the scene in silence, the only noise their slightly laboured breathing.

Harry is just so lovely, warm and toasty against the slight evening chill. Louis keeps his arms firmly around his waist as they observe Paris together; they watch cars drive up and down the busy streets, light flicker on and off across the horizon, people shout and sing and laugh below, and the cool breeze that makes Harry’s hair ripple a little.

“I love Paris,” Louis murmurs, turning his head to look at Harry. “Thank you for bringing me here, Haz. I really needed it.”

Harry doesn’t respond, just keeps staring straight ahead and out into the distance, so Louis gives him a squeeze.

“Oi,” he says, a little louder but not too loud. “Are you with me?”

“Sorry,” Harry says hoarsely. “A hundred miles away, I was. You okay?”

“Brilliant,” Louis says with a smile. “I said thank you for bringing me here.”

Harry returns his grin. “You’re welcome, darling.” The pair shares a brief, sweet kiss, and when Louis pulls back he’s smiling like an idiot but Harry looks stony all of a sudden, focused and sharp.

“Haz?” Louis asks, confused as Harry suddenly pulls out of his arms and drops to the floor. He looks down and sees him fumbling with something, and assumes he’s just tying his shoe so he looks back out over Paris, beaming at the view. “Hey, when you’re done over there can we waste our money on one of these weird telescope things? Do you think we’ll be able to see in the dark?”

“Louis,” Harry says from behind him. Louis holds out his hand but he doesn’t turn around.

“Come up here with me. After this, can we get ice cream? I know it’s a bit cold but…”

“Louis.”

“Here, have you got a Euro?” Louis asks, fumbling in his pocket and coming up empty. “I didn’t even think to bring any actually, and I paid for the meal on my card and…”

“ _Louis._ ”

“Wha… _oh,_ ” Louis says, turning around and gasping. He covers his mouth with both hands and makes a sort of choked sound, but he doesn’t think anyone can blame him, not when he’s got Harry Styles crouched in front of him, up on one knee, holding a tiny velvet box with a diamond ring nestled inside it in his hands. “Holy fucking _shit,_ Harry.”

Harry grins, but he’s twitchy. Louis is suddenly aware that the poor bloke is probably terrified, but he really has no need to be.

“Yes,” he says, stepping forward and reaching out to touch Harry before he takes a stumbling step back. “No, wait. _Fuck._ You haven’t even asked yet. I’m sorry, we can start again. I’ll turn back around and pretend I haven’t seen you.”

“Louis, _Christ,_ will you shut up?” Harry huffs, though Louis knows he doesn’t mean it. His eyes are shiny with a really sappy combination of love and unshed tears, and Louis’s definitely about to cry too. “Can I talk now?”

“Yes. Please,” Louis says hurriedly, biting nervously at his index finger. He’s waited a very long time to hear these words from Harry and he still isn’t ready. “Oh my god.”

“Louis, my lovely Louis,” Harry starts. He’s trembling with nerves, and Louis is suddenly acutely aware of just how many people are watching them but he refuses to look anywhere else than at Harry’s face. “You’re my best friend. You’re my favourite song. You’re everything I’ve ever wanted and more. I love you more than I know how to put into words, and I want to marry you even though you always leave your dirty dishes in the sink instead of putting them in the dishwasher and you’ve never changed the bedsheets a day in your life and you talked over your own fucking proposal, for _fuck’s sake_.”

There’s a ripple of laughter among the onlookers, though nobody is laughing more than Louis. A stray tear trickles down his cheek and he hurries to wipe it away.

“Louis, will you marry me?” Harry finishes, the smile on his face wide and bright. Louis nods so fast he nearly dislodges his glasses from his face.

“Yes. _Yes,_ fuck, I’ll marry you. _Yes._ ”

“Yes,” Harry echoes, then jumps to his feet and engulfs Louis in the tightest embrace. Louis wraps his arms around Harry’s neck and jumps, legs wrapping around his waist clumsily as Harry spins them around and moves in to kiss whatever part of Louis his lips reach first. Their mouths meet eventually and Louis sinks into it, licking into Harry’s mouth and fisting hands in his hair to the raucous cheer and applause of their audience.

“I love you, I love you so much,” Louis yells before he kisses him again, long and slow. He doesn’t want Harry to put him down, not now, not ever. Harry is the most beautiful thing in his world – in the whole world, probably – and he’s got him clinging to him like he’s precious and adored, lips pressed to Louis’s skin and heart beating just against his own. It’s enough to have him reeling, because Harry is the surest thing he knows. He’s always known that he and Harry were a done deal, but the fact that Harry’s just proposed and they’re going to get _married_ one day doesn’t seem real.

“I love you too,” Harry chokes out, and he’s _definitely_ crying. “Louis, _Louis_ , fucking _hell…_ ”

“Here, put me down a sec,” Louis weeps (rather grudgingly) before he charges back into Harry’s arms and buries his face in his chest. He lets himself stay there for a little longer before he pulls back enough to see his fiancé’s face, then brings his sleeve down over his fist so he can mop at Harry’s snotty face. “Oh, baby, look at you.”

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Harry whimpers, half-laughing and half-crying as Louis wraps his arms around his shoulders again and cradles his head against his chest. “Oh, my god, I just… I can’t believe…”

“You better believe it, baby,” Louis laughs, bringing his head up and cupping his wet cheeks so he can kiss him again. “We’re getting married.”

Harry lets out another sob and Louis can’t help but laugh as he moves in to kiss his daft, sappy darling. It’s damp and snotty, and he ends up pulling back after only a couple of quick pecks because it’s clear Harry’s crying too hard to do much kissing, but for once in his life he’s okay with not kissing Harry.

He’s getting _married._

It takes a while to get them out of there because every onlooker seems to want to give them individual congratulations, and while Louis is incredibly grateful and chuffed that so many lovely people got to witness it, he’s feeling very selfish and he wants Harry to himself for the rest of the night. He’s also half-aware that they’re not exactly unknown figures, so once the last young lady has given them a happy hug, he steers them straight towards a taxi and back to their hotel. He doesn’t let go of Harry’s hand.

“Everyone… was just… so _lovely,_ ” Harry cries into his shoulder, gripping Louis’s hand rather painfully. Louis’s new ring digs into his finger and he almost yelps, but like Harry he has no intention of letting go of his fiancé. “Everyone just… they all just… they all just shared in our happiness, Lou, and it was so… it was so…”

“Harry, babe,” Louis chuckles, nosing at his shoulder and kissing the spot where he knows his ship tattoo is. “It’s okay, darling, you can have a good cry now.” He beams at him as Harry nods and pinches the bridge of his nose with his free hand, unsuccessfully staunching another wave of tears. “God, you’re so cute. Do you have any idea how lovely you are?”

“I’m a mess,” Harry wails. “I’m a bloody mess, Louis. It’s meant to be the happiest day of my life and all I can do is cry.”

Louis giggles and tucks himself even further into Harry’s side. He loosens his grip on Harry’s hand but it stays entwined with his own easily; Louis just wants to look at the ring a little better.

“Can I get you a ring?” he asks Harry instead of pandering to his mess comments. “Can I make it all official for the both of us? So everyone can see?”

“Really?” Harry asks, starry-eyed. He’s so beautiful in his surprise, shocked and earnest and all for Louis. “You want… really?”

“Definitely,” Louis nods, and he draws Harry’s left hand to his mouth and kisses his bare ring finger. “We can go shopping tomorrow and I’ll buy you any one you want.”

“I love you,” Harry sniffs, then bundles a smirking Louis against his chest. Louis wraps an arm around his neck and presses his face into Harry’s shoulder, laughing loudly when Harry adds, “I love being rich as well.”

“So do I,” he agrees. “I love that our hotel has the perfect bed for ravishing each other on.”

Harry snorts. “Very true.” He cups Louis’s face, and Louis covers his hand with his own. “Thanks for saying yes. Have I thanked you for that yet?”

Louis laughs disbelievingly and darts forward to give Harry a kiss. “You’re an idiot,” he tells him. “I can’t believe you thought there was any doubt.”

Harry shrugs, cheeks pink. “You never know, you could have changed your mind since that conversation a couple of years ago.”

“Which one?” Louis asks, brows furrowed. Harry hiccups and kisses Louis again quickly.

“Remember when I got asked to walk for Lanvin for the first time?” Louis nods. “And we’d had a big fight that day, do you remember that bit?”

“Shit, yeah,” Louis murmurs, pulling a face. He was so angry at himself for most of that day, but then Harry and him had both emerged triumphant on the other side – Harry scouted by the Lanvin scouts and then Louis’s portfolio requested by their make-up artists – then they’d gone home and had some of the best sex Louis thinks they’ve ever had. It makes for a pretty spectacular memory, but it was also the first time the pair had really talked about marriage. Louis was half-expecting Harry to propose on the spot, but instead he made a promise to take Louis to Paris and do it at the top of the Eiffel Tower. Hindsight is a wonderful thing, and perhaps Louis should have suspected this on their spontaneous trip to Paris, but he quite likes the fact that he was oblivious. It feels a lot more meaningful this way, somehow.

“Well, anyway, that day you said you would say yes if I asked you again in two years,” Harry explains. “I promised I’d take you to Paris, didn’t I? Well, it’s been nearly two years since then and I was getting desperate to make you my fiancé, so I bought the ring and booked the trip.”

“You’re my favourite, did you know that?” Louis coos, and he goes to lick into Harry’s mouth again but the cab pulls up outside their hotel and they’re forced to separate. Harry digs around in his pocket for a wad of cash and pulls out a note, handing it over to the driver with a thank-you in broken French.

Louis gets out the car first and holds out his hand for Harry to take. They clip up the stairs to the hotel entranceway, Harry laughing loudly as Louis points out that the paps are _definitely_ taking pictures of them and their story will probably be all over the gossip rags by the morning.

“We should probably call our mums before we get in the congratulatory shag,” Louis says once they’re back in their suite. He kicks off his shoes and bounces over to the bed, sitting crossed legged against the pillows as he grabs his iPad from the bedside table. He looks up as he types in the password to find Harry giving him a look, still fully dressed and arms crossed. “What?”

“Can we have, like, ten minutes to ourselves before we do?” Harry asks. “I mean, I wanna tell the entire world as much as you do, and I definitely can’t wait for the shag, but come on, Lou. Let me kiss you for a bit before, yeah?”

Louis waggles his eyebrows. “Well, if you insist,” he says with a pretend sigh. He gestures coyly to Harry, who snorts as he pulls off his leather jacket and kicks off his boots. “Come on, Styles, kiss me like you mean it.”

Harry moves towards him and scrambles onto the bed, his long arms boxing Louis in against the plush pillows. He’s warm and all-encompassing, and Louis has to beckon him a little lower so he can wrap his own shorter arms around his neck.

“I love you,” he breathes. “I mean, you know that already, but I just… I love you.”

“I love you too,” Harry says, breath hot against Louis’s lips. They’re close enough to kiss, but neither of them makes the move to close the gap between them just yet. “I’ll never get tired of hearing it either, or saying it to you. I love you, Louis Tomlinstyles.”

Louis barely misses headbutting Harry straight in the face as he barks out a surprised laugh. “Tomlinstyles,” he howls, throwing his head back and cackling, ignoring Harry’s surprised “oi!” “Oh, baby, bless you, but that’s probably the funniest thing you’ve ever said.”

“Do you not like it?” Harry says, pouting. Louis just keeps giggling, then opens his eyes and cups Harry’s cheek again, thumbing over his light stubble.

“I like _you,_ ” is his answer. “And anyway, we can talk about names later. Kiss me so we can call our mums.”

Harry just sighs like he’s hard-done-by. “You’re a menace. I knew you only wanted me for my body.”

“Mmm, not every day someone gets to proudly tell everyone they’re getting married to a supermodel _and_ People Magazine’s fourth sexiest man on earth,” Louis smirks. “And anyway, you’re one to talk, arse-man.”

“I am definitely only marrying you for your arse,” Harry deadpans. “Which, by the way, I wouldn’t mind getting inside later.” He kisses Louis again. “Can we do it that way?”

“Listen, if you’re still this unsure about really fuckin’ obvious questions this far into our relationship then maybe we shouldn’t get married.”

“Oi, don’t be a dick,” Harry pouts. “I just like to check.”

In lieu of a sarcastic reply Louis kisses him hard, wrapping his arms around Harry’s neck so he can’t go anywhere. The kiss turns lazy, slows down nicely until Louis’s feeling a little dizzy, heady with a familiar feeling of horniness coupled with that delicious warmth in his belly that reminds him he’s never going to kiss anyone but Harry for the rest of his life.

He kind of knew that already, but. _Whatever_.

“Let’s fuck,” he decides, too hungry for Harry to really even contemplate talking to his mother right now. _Christ,_ he needs to get the thought of her out his head. “Yeah. Want you.”

“Want you so much,” Harry mumbles, then pulls back enough to make quick work of Louis’s buttons, then leans down to press the gentlest kiss to the tip of Louis’s nose before he folds his glasses off his face and slides them onto the bedside table. “Pretty boy.”

Louis shifts his hips, eager for Harry to strip the tight denim from his legs. “Come on, baby,” he says encouragingly. “Want you loads.” He wraps a hand around Harry’s necklace and tugs sharply, which makes Harry grunt. “Get naked, you big lump.”

“Your sexy talk is unrivalled,” Harry complains, but he does as he’s told and strips his top off, dropping it to the floor in a tangled mess. “Lift your hips, love, let me take these off.”

Louis complies, pressing his feet flat to the mattress and wiggling as Harry tugs the restricting down his legs to his ankles. They catch on Louis’s feet and Harry has to lean backwards awkwardly to unhook them. When he turns back his bottom lip is shiny like he’s been licking it, and Louis wants to bite at it, so he does.

He’s panting into Harry’s mouth by the time the kiss breaks, hard against his thigh with a lovely boy staring down at him hungrily. “Touch me,” he begs, hands running up and down Harry’s chest. He doesn’t miss the way Harry shivers when his thumb grazes his nipple. “Fuck, Haz, where’s the… did you pack lube?”

“Buggering shit,” Harry swears, groaning as he climbs off Louis and hobbles over to their suitcases. Louis props himself up on his elbows and watches Harry rather comically kick off the rest of his clothes as he digs through his bag for the little bottle that could make or break this weekend. “Aha!”

“It’s like you knew you were getting laid this weekend or something,” Louis remarks as Harry stumbles back over. “What kinda girl do you take me for?”

“One that just got engaged,” Harry says, grinning. He shuffles back onto the bed and nudges Louis’s thighs apart, then wraps a hand around Louis’s cock and gives it a few dry strokes. Louis groans as he feels himself harden in his hand. “One that loves me very much, perhaps?”

“Damn straight,” Louis tells him, arching his back a little as Harry’s grip gets a little firmer. He feels a hand wrap around his thigh and he lets himself be guided a little further down the mattress, thighs spread and legs lifting to rest atop Harry’s shoulders. It’s only now he twigs what Harry’s about to do to him. “ _Oh_.”

“Okay, baby?” Harry questions, then doesn’t wait for an answer before he spreads Louis’s cheeks and presses a soft, gentle kiss right over Louis’s hole.

“Yeah,” Louis answers breathily, an answer to Harry’s question and also a loud declaration of just how good that feels in one. “ _Shit,_ Harry.”

One thing about Harry that Louis’s always found endearing (in the weirdest way, bless) is his fascination with rimming. A fond memory he has from their early days is Harry blushing the same colour as the gloss on Louis’s lips, asking Louis in the hallway at pre-drinks when he’d had a couple of vodkas if it was something they could try when they were both more sober. Louis had tentatively agreed, then a couple of weeks later he’d spent a good half hour in the shower with his heart jackhammering against his chest while Harry waited in the next room in nothing but his pants.

He’d been addicted ever since.

It’s pretty great having someone who eats arse the exact way Louis wants his arse eaten, and Harry knows every twist and turn that will have Louis whimpering, squirming against his face and away from it both at once. Harry drags kisses over him first before he licks at the hole dirtily, getting him messy with spit. It sends a spike of pleasure through Louis that makes his breath hitch.

“Good,” he slurs, trying and failing to muster up the energy to tangle a hand in Harry’s hair. “So fucking good, _shit._ ”

He doesn’t get much a reply, just a grunt and a long, forceful lick right over his rim. Louis sighs happily and leans his head back against the plush pillows, his mind a mix of thoughts but the most coherent is _Harry._ He’s probably died and this is what heaven feels like – Harry eating him out while he wears nothing except his engagement ring in the beautiful city of love.

There’s spit sliding down Harry’s chin when he looks up briefly. They make eye contact for just a second before Harry goes back to it, getting him nice and wet. His tongue works him open, and even though Louis knows it’s coming, knows what the eventual goal of this evening is, it still makes jolt when Harry’s lube-wet fingers brush over his entrance.

“Harry,” Louis whines, rocking himself down clumsily as Harry slides a finger inside carefully. He hasn’t stopped licking him out, not yet, and Louis doesn’t want him to. There’s something incredibly hot about having both Harry’s fingers and tongue up his arse at once, and with a deep breath he spreads himself a little wider and then moves his hand down to brush Harry’s hair out his eyes.

“Taste so good,” Harry mutters, giving Louis’s hole one last, firm lick before he sits back on his knees. He wipes his mouth with his clean hand and doesn’t break eye contact with Louis before he says, “I know this is going to sound weird but the way you look when I eat you out is, like, positively adorable.”

Louis stares at him. “ _Really?”_ he asks, completely incredulous. “You’ve got two fingers up my arse and you think I look cute?”

“I do,” Harry says, then curls his fingers upwards, brushing over Louis’s prostate. Louis hisses and his body goes pliant, and he shifts a little to chase the pressure of Harry’s fingertips. “I think you’re the best person in the whole world and I think you look absolutely beautiful when I’ve got you like this.”

“Cute is very different from beautiful, you big twat,” Louis pants. There’s sweat dripping down his temples and he lets out a whine as Harry gets his prostate again. “Your dirty talk could do with some work.”

“I love the way you sing to yourself when you’re applying your make-up,” Harry says, then adds a third finger. Louis whimpers. “I love that you sing to yourself when you’re doing most things, actually.”

“Is this meant to be turning me on?” Louis asks, breathy and less sarcastic than he aims to be. Harry’s fingers are turning him into metaphorical goo. “Is this a new kink of yours?”

“Just wanna make sure you know how much I love you,” Harry smirks. Now he’s in control and he’s got Louis spread out like this he’s leagues away from the soft lad who cried on Louis in the taxi, and Louis’s loathed to admit how much he loves that about him. “It’s your turn, anyway. Tell me why you love me.”

“Umm,” Louis stutters, every coherent thought fleeing his mind as Harry curls his fingers and holds them there for longer than he was ready for. “I, um, I love how you kiss me when I get in from work. Like – _fuck –_ like we’ve been apart for longer than the working day or whatever. Makes me feel so loved and… and safe, you know?”

“Always love kissing you,” Harry says, rising up on his knees and kissing Louis soundly. Louis sighs into his mouth and fists both his hands in Harry’s damp hair. “I think a lot of couples probably stop kissing when they get married and I’m not gonna let that happen with us.”

“Charmer,” Louis laughs, breathy. He kisses Harry again and pretends he’s not glowing. “Could charm the pants off anyone, you could.”

“I only care about charming you, baby,” Harry says sweetly, then tugs his fingers out. It’s unexpected and it makes Louis hiss and curse. “Hey, none of that. Gonna get inside you now.”

Louis braces himself and spreads his legs a little, and suddenly Harry’s inside him – he’s _big, big, big,_ and it hurts a little, but Louis bites at Harry’s bottom lip and lets Harry take his time. Once he’s inside he lifts Louis’s leg up and drapes it over his shoulder, then thrusts him hard enough to carry him a little higher up the bed.

Louis licks his lips and throws his head back, letting Harry pretty much take over as he gets back onto his knees and starts to fuck Louis properly now. His immediate want is to touch his cock but he also wants this to last, so instead he shifts his hips to try and get the angle right.

“Yeah,” he lets out, grunting as Harry nails his sweet spot again. “Yeah, babe, so good.”

Without warning, Harry slides his arms under Louis’s shoulders and flips them over so Louis’s on top. Louis lets out a moan that’s probably too loud as Harry’s dick slides mercilessly against his prostate, and he’s grateful that Harry’s hands come to settle on his hips because he’s gone boneless.

“Want you to come like this,” Harry rumbles, stroking fingers over Louis’s hipbone. Louis takes a deep breath and rises up on his haunches a bit, just getting used to the new position. “Wanna watch you.”

“Yeah?” Louis rests his hands on Harry’s chest for leverage and then lets himself drop down again. Harry whines and digs his nails in. “Wanna watch me come all over you?”

“Always,” Harry says, smirking again. He nudges his hips up a little to meet Louis’s bounces and they both groan in unison. “So pretty when you come, you are.”

“Flatterer,” Louis says, using a shaky hand to push his hair back. He can’t resist leaning down enough to peck at Harry’s smiling mouth, then sits back up and repositions himself, working himself up and down in a slow, steady rhythm. It’s calm between them – unhurried and sweet as Harry holds him tight but not too tight, grinning up at him dopily while Louis fucks himself lazily. It’s great sex, and as Louis looks down at the man beneath him, the man he calls his everything, he feels like the luckiest man in the whole universe.

“You love me,” he rasps, almost in disbelief. It’s not a question, and Harry’s brows knit together in confusion.

“More than anything,” he agrees, tugging Louis down for another sloppy kiss. It’s white hot heat and velvet lips, and before Louis knows what’s happening he’s coming in between the two of them, ropes of sticky white painting the butterfly on Harry’s tummy. He goes lax against Harry, suddenly too tired to even kiss, and Harry takes it upon himself to wrap Louis up in his arms, crushing him to his chest as he keeps fucking in to him. He comes after a few more messy thrusts, and the pair of them just lay there for a while, neither of them making an effort to move.

“Lovely Harry,” Louis mumbles after a long few minutes, settling himself against Harry more comfortably. Harry’s pliant as anything, pink-skinned and rosy-cheeked, and Louis keeps them wrapped together before he rolls them onto their sides. Harry’s still inside of him. “Lovely, lovely, lovely Harry.”

“Louis,” Harry whispers as a reply, stifling a yawn into Louis’s shoulder. “You daft boy. I love you endlessly.”

“Sap,” Louis says. Harry grins at him.

“I do though,” he tells him. “You’re the surest thing I know.”

“Double sap,” Louis tells him fondly with a pat on the cheek. He pecks a small, tired kiss onto the corner of Harry’s mouth then wrinkles his nose. “I love you rather a lot, but do you have any idea how much you taste like garlic?”

Harry throws his head back in a throaty laugh, ugly and beautiful both at once. He shakes his head, calls him an arsehole, then proceeds to kiss Louis with that garlicky mouth over and over until the sun starts to rise outside.

*

After their gorgeous weekend away, Louis is absolutely _not_ ready to return to dreary London and the real world. Apart from their FaceTime calls to their mothers neither of them have phoned, texted, or emailed anyone, nor have they checked what’s sat in their inboxes.

Louis really doesn’t want to.

Rather fittingly, it’s raining as their plane touches down in Heathrow (they don’t fly in a private jet back, but rather first class on a standard flight), and it takes longer than Louis would like for them to get through security and baggage handling. Once they’re through they hop in a black cab, and it’s early afternoon by the time they get back to their flat.

“I’m gonna nip to Tesco,” Harry announces before they’re even comfortably out the lift. Louis unceremoniously dumps his suitcase and backpack just slightly out the way before he flops onto their sofa. “We won’t have any milk or bread, will we?”

“Christ, Harry, can we just get in?” Louis tuts. “We have time to sort this shit, it’s barely two o’clock.”

“It is a bank holiday though,” Harry reminds him. “Shops close at four.”

“Do I need to repeat myself?” Louis says with a glare. “Shut up and put the kettle on first, there’s a good lad.”

“Babe,” Harry groans. “We’ve got no milk, remember?”

Louis sits up, eyes wide. “Oh, fuck this,” he complains loudly. “Come on then, Styles, chop chop. To Tesco with you.”

“You fucking…” Harry growls. It would almost be menacing if he didn’t look so tired and also in desperate need for a cuppa. “Fine, I’m going.”

Louis rolls his eyes and (reluctantly) stands up, dusting himself down before he goes over to his backpack and digs around for his wallet. “I’ll come too,” he offers, straightening up. “We need more than just bread and milk, love. We need dinner for tonight and I need some Diet Coke.”

“I figured you’d just want to order in,” Harry says, perking up as Louis sidles closer and slides his hand through Harry’s arm so he’s holding his elbow. “And I’m feeling lazy as anything so I was gonna go with the flow.”

“Nah,” Louis says, guiding them into the lift. He presses the button to take them downstairs while Harry pops his fingerprint on the pad above it. “I kinda want something a little less… rich than what we’ve been eating for the past four days.”

“Never thought I’d hear you say that,” Harry teases. Louis pinches him. “ _Ow,_ alright. No need for that.”

“Listen, we just agreed to spend the rest of our lives together,” Louis says sternly. “We can’t be having this many micro-arguments already or else I might have to change my mind.”

“Oh, really?” asks Harry, unfazed. “Fair enough, I guess. It’s not like we’ve had seven years of practice of being together or anything.”

“Not at all,” Louis agrees.

“And it’s a shame because both our rings are so lovely,” Harry hums, holding up his own under the dim light of the elevator. “Expensive, too.”

“Very expensive,” Louis nods. “But it’s just not working, Harry. You’re very mean and I’m very delicate.”

“Okay,” Harry accepts, then before Louis knows what’s going on he’s being snogged up against the wall of the lift, the handrail digging into the small of his back. Harry’s rough and he kisses with bite, yet he pulls away before Louis can properly kiss back. It leaves him reeling, and before he realises what’s going on Harry’s untangled himself and is stalking out the now open lift. “Bye, baby.”

“Get back here,” Louis hisses, scurrying after him in a way he’ll never admit to. “Harry Styles, I swear to god…”

Harry’s waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs to their building, arms crossed and looking smug. Louis punches him in the arm once he catches up with him, then wraps his arms around his shoulders and kisses him proudly.

“The thing about you, Harold, is you make me want to proclaim all these daft-arse things at the top of my lungs,” he huffs. “And that makes you a right dickhead.”

“You love me,” Harry deadpans. “Now can we hurry up? I want to get to Tesco before it rains again.”

They manage to make it to Tesco just before the heavens open, and once they’re inside they make quick work of filling their trolley with fruit and veg, bread, milk, a few ready meals, a cheesecake (“you’re so full of shit, Lou”), and an eight-pack of Diet Coke. Harry carries the bags while Louis carries the cans under his arm and they make it back to their flat only a little bit damp. Harry moves to unload the groceries while Louis turns on the shower, and even though he was planning on going in alone he ends up dragging Harry in with him and ignoring real life for just a little bit longer.

Once they’re both dressed again, soft and cosy in trackies and jumpers with mugs of steaming tea on the coffee table, the pair collect their phones and elect to turn them on at the same time.

“One… two… three… go,” Louis says, pressing the little button at the side and waiting for the Apple logo to fill the screen. He really is dreading this. “Oh _god,_ it’s frozen before it’s even turned on properly, that’s how many messages I’ve got.”

“Same,” Harry says glumly. “Oh, shit, I think that might be the group chat that’s done that.”

Ever since uni, the eight of them have had a group chat that they still speak on almost every day. Now, though, it seems that them running away to Paris and getting engaged without telling their six best mates has not gone down too well.

They should have known.

“Jesus Christ, I don’t think I’ve ever heard El use language like that,” Harry murmurs disbelievingly. “Or Sophia… _Zayn Javadd,_ oh my god. Zayn is _pissed._ ”

Louis cackles loudly as he scrolls through all eight hundred and thirty four messages, not really reading them in full but seeing enough to know that he probably should have told them. “Okay, which of our mothers told them?”

“Yours,” Harry says straight away. “We both know your mother texts Liam on a regular basis.”

“Yeah, that’s true,” Louis sighs. “I guess we better…”

Before he can answer his phone starts ringing with a FaceTime call, and when he accepts it there’s one very stern-looking Zayn Malik on the screen. _What impeccable timing._

“Hi,” Louis croaks, pulling a face. He’s never been scared of Zayn before, but there’s a first time for everything. “Are you okay?”

“Am I okay?” Zayn shrills. His eyebrows appear to have disappeared into his hairline. “Am I _okay?_ ” Louis winces. “Is there a reason my alleged _best mate_ didn’t call to tell me that he got fucking engaged to my other alleged best mate?”

“Oi, hang on a sec,” Louis says, affronted. “To be fair, we only got back half an hour ago.”

“Fuck’s sake, Louis,” Zayn huffs. “You got engaged and I had to find out through your mother, then you turned your fucking phone off. I don’t know what you were expecting.”

“Sorry?”

Zayn sighs. “You absolute bloody arsehole. I love you both so much. Congrats.”

“Thank you,” Louis says with a soft smile. “Love you too, dickhead. Oh, and you’re my best man, obviously.”

“Liam’s gonna flip,” Zayn warns him, but he’s finally grinning. “I told him we’d play rock paper scissors.”

“Liam can be Harry’s,” Louis says with a wave of his hand. “And Niall can be a bridesmaid or something.”

“Unbelievable,” Zayn tuts. Louis’s not seen him grin like this in ages, not since he announced that he and Perrie were expecting a baby. It makes him chuckle. “Can I come round and hug you both?”

“Of course,” Louis starts, then freezes. “Oh, shit. No. I’ve got a fucktonne of meeting prep to do tonight.”

“Louis, you said yourself you’ve been back for thirty seconds,” Zayn groans. “Just chill. Celebrate your engagement with your mates. There is life outside of your fiancé’s arsehole, you know.”

“Nasty,” Harry says, hooking his chin over Louis’s shoulder. “Hey, Zayn. How are you?”

“Mad,” Zayn remarks, shoulders high. “So’s Pez. Oi, Pez!”

They hear shuffling, then a few moments later Perrie appears on screen. For a second all they can see is baby bump as she plonks herself in Zayn’s lap. “Hey, bitches.”

“Whoops?” is all Louis dares to offer.

“And you think you’re getting away with that? _No,_ ” Perrie says, glaring. “You didn’t tell any of us! We had to find out from Liam, who found out from your fuckin’ _mother._ ”

“We were also told you looked – _ahem_ – slightly worse for wear when you FaceTimed her,” Zayn smirks. “Couldn’t keep your hands off each other?”

“Hardly,” Harry says dreamily, shifting so he can take the phone from Louis and crawling into his lap all at once, almost breaking Louis’s dick in the process. “I was told I could only call my mum to tell her before I had to turn my full attention to him.” Louis pinches him on the hip, _hard,_ and Harry squeaks and turns to look at him, blinking his long eyelashes at him innocently. “I loved it though. I loved that night. I’ll remember it…”

“Shut the fuck up,” Zayn yells. Perrie’s pretending to be sick over Zayn’s shoulder. “I could almost handle it better if it was sexy details, but the whole soft voice and the fond eyes...” He shudders and shakes his head. “Enough. There’s a baby present.”

“Awww, Zayny,” Louis clucks, wrapping his arms around Harry’s middle and squeezing. He hooks his chin over Harry’s shoulder. “If you wanna know what happened, all you have to do is ask.”

“No, thanks,” Perrie interjects. “We’re good over here.”

“I think we should probably hang up here and arrange a celebration in the week,” Zayn says quickly as Louis starts doing a rather crude penetrative gesture over Harry’s shoulder. “Lou, stop whining and remember you’re the make-up king.”

“Fuck yourself,” Louis says cheerfully. “But yes, we do, otherwise I think Liam might murder us and Niall might cry.”

“True,” Zayn snorts. “See you later, lovebirds.”

“Bye!” Louis chirps, hanging up and dropping the phone somewhere on the sofa. He turns to Harry and pats his cheek. “You need to ask Liam to be your best man.”

“Fuck that,” Harry says. “All three of them are going to be our collective best men.”

“Fine, but Zayn stands on my side of the altar,” Louis haggles. Harry sighs and nods, and Louis pats him again, this time on the hip. “Good boy.”

“You’ve mellowed out a bit now,” Harry notes. “Chatting to Zayn always chills you out. We should ask him to move in.”

“Ha ha,” Louis says dryly. “No, we shouldn’t. If Zayn moved in then I wouldn’t be able to shag on the sofa.”

Harry blinks at him. “You’ve never fucked me on the sofa. You’ve never even once expressed a vague desire to fuck me on the sofa.”

“Have I not?” Louis says thoughtfully. Harry shakes his head and Louis almost ends up with a mouthful of hair. “Hmmm, well. I’d offer to change that if I didn’t have so much work to do. I loved our little weekend away but it wasn’t good for my work schedule.”

“Louis,” Harry says, giving him a look. “It’s a Bank Holiday.”

“So?”

“Let’s have sex on the sofa,” Harry says instead of humouring him, nudging their noses together briefly before he kisses him properly. Louis wants to push him away, wants to tell him he doesn’t have any time for this, but Harry’s stronger than he is and before Louis realises what’s going on Harry’s out of his lap and wheeling Louis’s swivel chair down the corridor into the living room.

“Are you out of your mind?” he shouts. “Harry, no, wait, _stop,_ this is my _career._ ”

“Baby,” Harry laughs, then upends the chair without warning so Louis topples face first onto the couch. He shrieks and kicks out behind him, but he misses Harry by miles and Harry ends up easily pinning him underneath him, his grin wide, proud, and unwavering.

They have sex on the sofa. Louis hates and loves him in equal measure.

*


	8. Better Than Sex

*

 

_“You have achieved success if you have lived well, laughed often and loved much” - Anonymous_

 

*

“Stop tapping your foot,” Harry warns, resting his hand on top of Louis’s knee. “ _Lou._ Stop.”

“Can’t,” Louis huffs back defiantly, and he isn’t lying. The wiggling of his leg is a nervous tick, and Louis is more nervous right now than he’s been in a long time. “ _Shan’t._ ”

“Louis,” Harry says, tightening his grip until Louis finally stills. “Babe. It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay,” Louis retorts, folding his arms carefully so as not to crease his fancy tailored suit. “It’s very much not okay, Harry. I’m a wreck.”

“You’re annoying,” Harry tells him, brows raised. “But you’re certainly not a wreck. You look very handsome tonight.”

“You have to say that,” Louis drawls, but he covers Harry’s hand with his own and locks their fingers together. “And you look better than me anyway.”

“You have to say that,” Harry deadpans, then giggles. Louis might hit him if he doesn’t stop winding him up. “Lou, I can feel your knee about to go again.”

“I’m really nervous, so shoot me,” Louis snaps. Harry sighs, sounding a little defeated, then he brings Louis’s hand to his mouth and kisses it.

“We’re nearly there,” he says matter-of-factly. “And at the end of the day even being nominated is bloody huge, Louis. But you’re also the most brilliant person I’ve ever met, so if you don’t win I’ll personally write a letter of complaint to Glamour Magazine themselves so they swap winners over.”

“Thanks,” Louis says weakly. The thought of even being nominated for an award is enough to make him feel sick, but being here dressed up to the nines and sitting in a room full of all the other nominees – some of which are Louis’s friends – is a bit much. He still feels like a small fish in a big pond in the YouTube world, and to come up against such talent in the category of Best YouTuber is enough to make his head spin.

“I mean it,” Harry says dutifully. If Louis hadn’t spent so long on his lipliner he’d probably be snogging him senseless right now. “I think you’re going to win.”

“Don’t say that,” Louis croaks, then shuts up as the car pulls up at the end of the red carpet. Walking these things is always completely surreal, and Louis almost forgets to wait for the driver to open the door for them to show it’s safe. “Hold my hand, yeah?”

“Of course,” Harry nods, shuffling towards Louis so they can get out the same door. “Love you.”

“Love you more,” Louis rasps before he takes a deep breath. The door opens and he steps out to an almost deafening amount of screams and cheers, which only seem to amplify when Harry emerges and takes his hand. “Fuck me,” Louis mutters under his breath, then waves at a few people. He turns to Harry and grins, and Harry shoots him a wink back.

The red carpet is lined with other celebrities, some that they know and others that Louis worries he’ll get star struck if he tries speaking with them. There’s also a multitude of journalists and it takes very little time for one to make their way over to the pair. Louis has a microphone shoved under his nose before he knows what’s going on.

“And here we have Louis Tomlinson and Harry Styles looking nothing short of _exquisite,_ ” the bubbly blonde reporter chatters excitedly. “How are you lads today?”

“Good, thanks,” Louis says faintly. The reporter moves the microphone up to Harry, who mumbles something similar, then it’s moved back down to Louis.

“So, Louis, you’re up for an award for the Best Blogger,” the girl says enthusiastically, as if she’s the one breaking this news to Louis and he didn’t get a long letter in the post a few months ago. “How does it feel to be the first male nominated for any award outside of Man of the Year?”

“I am?” Louis asks, rather taken aback. He hadn’t known _that._ “Bloody hell, really?”

“Yep,” she nods, then she laughs. “So it’s a pretty good feeling then?”

“I… I mean, yeah,” Louis says, a little flustered and overwhelmed. “I’m trying really hard not to swear on camera right now, but…” He makes a noise. “Wow.”

“With that in mind do you think your chances of winning are any higher?” she asks. “You’ve got the most followers on your blog but the second highest number of subscribers to your YouTube.”

“I mean, I think the competition is fierce and every single one of us deserves it,” Louis says, standing a little straighter. The last thing he’s going to do is shit-talk anyone here. “We all love our jobs and we know we wouldn’t be here without our followers or subscribers, so even if only one of them votes for us it’s still a huge honour, at least for me.”

“Alright then,” she smiles, wide and pinching. “And how about you, Harry? Are you proud of your man?”

_What a stupid question,_ Louis thinks.

“I, um, well. Proud is an understatement, really,” Harry says. “I’ve been here since day one and I’ve seen this whole thing grow, you know, and it’s just such a wonderful thing to see happen to the person you love. He’s got this, like, brand, almost and he’s so good at what he does and yeah, I’m proud.” He puts his arm around Louis’s shoulders and gives him a squeeze. “Very proud.”

“Aren’t you two just darling?” she coos. Louis fights the urge to roll his eyes. “Thanks for taking the time to speak with us today, Louis and Harry. Enjoy your night!”

“We certainly will,” Harry says brightly, effortless in his charm. It’s the kind of cool Louis’s been trying (and failing) to perfect for years. _Fucking supermodels,_ he thinks. “Thanks, Laura.”

“How the fuck did you know her name?” Louis hisses as he snatches up Harry’s hand and stalks them away from the journalists.

“Recognised her from BBC3,” Harry says with a shrug. “And you’ve gotta be polite, haven’t you?”

“No,” mumbles Louis. He’s feeling very petulant about the whole thing already. “What kind of dumb-ass question is ‘are you proud of your boyfriend?’, I mean, really?”

“Granted, not one I would have asked,” Harry agrees, sounding entirely too amused. “Listen, baby. _Hey._ Will you stop gripping my hand so tight?”

“Sorry,” Louis sighs, dropping it so he can fluff up his hair a bit. “Right, come on. Let’s go socialise and avoid paps, yeah?”

“Yes, darling, whatever you say,” Harry chuckles, still laughing at something Louis doesn’t get. He resists the urge to stamp on Harry’s foot and beams as he spots Leigh-Anne and her partner across the way. He makes a beeline towards them and has a quick chat, then he spots Cara and Annie, two of his favourite girls, and heads over to them for a bit.

As it gets a little darker outside they’re gestured inside, away from the red carpet and the paps and towards their tables. There’s a three-course meal to be served before the awards start, so Louis and Harry take their seats – as it turns out, they’re sharing a table with Cara and Annie, as well as a couple of other familiar industry faces.

There’s also an open bar, so Louis loses Harry for a couple of minutes before he returns with two overflowing pint glasses of beer. Louis could kiss him (he likes champagne but only in small doses, really), so he does.

“You’re welcome,” Harry hums, sliding back into his seat and curling a lazy arm around the back of Louis’s chair. He has to drop it rather quickly, because suddenly there’s a flurry of waiters bringing over huge plates of posh, decadent salad.

Louis picks at it, then wolfs down his main course of filet of beef with fancy potatoes and cream sauce. He’s even more of a bundle of nerves now they’re getting closer to the actual ceremony itself, and he’s always been a bit of a stress eater.

“Honey,” Harry’s voice says, right in his ear. It makes him jolt and a carrot goes down the wrong way, and he ends up chugging a good amount of Harry’s beer to sort himself out. “Sorry, babe, I’m sorry,” Harry coos, stroking a firm hand up his back. “That was an accident. But you’re so jumpy, Lou. It’s fine, it’s…”

“I nearly just died, arsehole,” Louis croaks, glaring. He flips his hair out of his face and readjusts a false eyelash, all the while not meeting his fiancé’s eyes. “Imagine if you’d killed me half an hour before my award was announced.”

“Aha, so you admit you could win,” Harry glowers. Louis glares some more.

“No, I… shut _up.”_

“You’re so annoying when you’re stressed,” Harry sighs, smacking a huge, slightly oily kiss onto Louis’s cheek and Louis just about slaps him.

“My _contour_ , you absolute _nightmare…”_

“God, Harry, how the fuck do you do it?” Cara asks, baffled. “He’s so shrill, Jesus.”

“Years of practice,” Harry says sagely, barely even glancing at Louis as he digs around in his pockets for the compact he’s carrying for him. “And because I know that deep down he’s doing it out of love.”

“Very deep down,” Louis snips. He pushes his plate away harshly and leans his elbows on the table, eyeing himself warily in the compact’s little mirror. “Oh, fuck this. Harry, where’s the rest of it?”

Harry sighs again, producing a lipstick and black eyeliner as if by magic. Louis scuttles out of there and touches himself up, then returns just in time for the desert.

The plates are cleared and the champagne flutes topped up before the lights dim and the ceremony starts to begin. Louis grips Harry’s hand on the table and very pointedly ignores the look he gets shot.

He feels physically sick as they roll through the categories – Kerry Washington wins Woman of the Year, Suki Waterhouse wins Next Breakthrough, and then Cara wins Best Model, which has the whole table cheering for a standing ovation. Louis’s super proud as she strides up onto the stage in her almost dangerously tall heels and blows a kiss at their table.

Her speech is short and sweet, just her thanking her parents and Annie before she raises the little trophy and is led off the stage. Louis casts a glance at Annie for a second and wonders briefly if he’s going to be able to look into the audience and see Harry stare back at him in the same way. It’s an odd feeling, really, because Louis one hundred percent wants Harry to be proud of him, and as Harry takes his hand again under the table he lets a smile tug at his lips, because Harry _is_ proud of him, award or no award.

He thinks back to Harry’s first Fashion Week, the day he was picked out by Lanvin. Louis’s deadly certain that nobody’s ever been prouder than he was when Harry walked that catwalk, and here they are all these years later, still tangled together and still coming on in leaps and bounds. It might sound selfish, but if Harry can feel even a speck of what Louis felt that day watching Louis win this award then Louis can die a very happy man.

He wants to win this award even more now, for himself but also for Harry.

A gentle but firm squeeze of his hand snaps him back to reality and he turns his head, first to Harry and then to the stage. It’s his category, and he takes a deep breath and fights the urge to climb into Harry’s lap and hide his face from view as fucking Zoella gets on stage and announces the nominees for this category.

“And the winner is…”

It’s the longest few seconds of Louis’s life, and all he can hope and pray is that there isn’t a camera on him this very second because he probably looks like hell.

“…Louis Tomlinson!”

“What the fuck?” Louis says out loud. He doesn’t move for a couple of seconds, half-waiting for them to announce it was a joke. Surely he didn’t _actually_ win. “What the…”

“Louis!” Harry yells, crushing Louis to his chest before Louis’s brain has even caught up with him. “Louis, you won!”

“I…” Louis starts, but he doesn’t get the chance to finish because he’s being beckoned towards the stage by a tall bloke in a suit, so he pulls himself away from Harry blindly and just follows. The room is deafening and all eyes are on him, and it’s all very surreal as he clips up the stairs towards the podium.

Zoella kisses his cheek and hands him the statuette, and he takes it shakily with a rather raspy murmur of thanks. The entire venue can probably tell he wasn’t expecting it at all, and when he laughs nervously into the microphone everyone chuckles back.

“I… um, wow,” are his eloquent first words. He shakes his head and pulls a face, and everyone laughs some more. It’s nice to know they get it. “I was not expecting to win at all, never in a million years.” He casts his eyes down to the statue in his hand and blinks at it a few times, still in complete disbelief. “Thank you for letting me win this. It’s a huge honour to come away with this after seeing the calibre of people I was nominated with, and I’m honestly… well, I’m a bit baffled that you picked me, really.”

Another laugh ripples through the crowd, and Louis takes a second to pick out his table in the crowd. He can’t see Harry’s face very clearly, but he doesn’t really need to, not really. He barrels on.

“I haven’t got much to say apart from thanks to all my readers, my subscribers, all of you who follow me and are supportive and just... _god,_ I don’t even know how to speak. But thank you, thank you all. You’re all amazing and I haven’t got the words.”

The audience claps and he moves to walk away, then darts back to the microphone before he can stop himself. “Oh, and well. Thanks to Harry, my lovely Harry, for buying me my first Naked palette back in the day and for loving me ever since. I love you the most, angel.” He shakes his head and blows a kiss in the vague direction of his table, then skips off clutching his award like it’ll be snatched away from him.

He flits around backstage for a bit, shaking lots of hands and kissing lots of cheeks before he’s guided back to his seat in an interval. He slides back into his seat, smile painfully wide, and he’s immediately assaulted by six foot of shrieking supermodel.

“You won!”

“I won,” Louis echoes, laughing as he slides his hands onto Harry’s neck. Harry attacks his face with kisses, no regard for Louis’s careful make-up, but Louis finds himself not caring anymore as he laughs even louder against Harry’s lips. Harry kisses with bite, but it’s a good bite, a grounding bite that reminds Louis why he wanted to win this award in the first place.

“I… you won,” Harry says again, pulling back and resting their foreheads together. “And you mentioned me in your speech. You _gorgeous_ little fucker.”

Louis cackles and kisses him once more. “Of course,” he says simply, then rubs their noses together. “You got me here today, didn’t you?”

“I did no such thing,” Harry says with a snort. “I just tagged along for the ride.”

Before Louis can answer with something equally sentimental and foolish something hits the side of Louis’s head and he pulls back, startled. As it turns out, it’s only Cara and Annie tossing one of the table decorations at them with matching smirks, but it’s enough to make Louis glare.

“What was that for?”

“It’s like you’re mutually masturbating in front of us,” Annie says, unabashed. Cara shrieks with laughter. “I can deal with the snogging, but honestly? The cooing and the fuckin’ soft words? The _nose rubbing?_ ” She shakes her head. “No, thank you.”

“Agreed,” Cara says flippantly. “Save it for the cab, or at least go to the bathroom.”

Louis flips them off and wraps his arms back around Harry’s neck, kissing his jaw sloppily before he noses at his cheek again. “In a minute,” he mumbles, half to them and half to himself, because this really isn’t the time or the place for the kind of affections he really wants to lavish Harry with. “One more kiss.”

“Two more,” says Harry, then presses their lips together before anyone at the table can argue.

It ends up being a lot more than two, but Louis can’t help but think he’s earned them. He _did_ win, after all.

*

Trying to plan a wedding in between their hectic schedules turns out to be pretty impossible, so what they do is they open Louis’s diary to a page that displays all twelve months of the year, and with closed eyes Harry points to a date. It seems the only reasonable and diplomatic way to do it at this point. Before he does it they shake hands (as if Louis hadn’t had his mouth around Harry’s cock not even ten minutes before) and agree that yes, this is absolutely final, this is their wedding day and there are no take-backs.

So when Harry puts his finger on a date that’s three weeks from now, Louis kicks him.

“God fucking dammit, Harry,” he yells. “You had one job.”

“Oh, shit,” Harry curses, shaking his head so hard that Louis would worry he was going to give himself vertigo if he wasn’t so mad. “Oh, shit, oh, shit, oh _fucking bullshit._ ”

“Well, I mean… we pick again, right?” Louis huffs. He starts pacing the room, fingers drumming against whatever they can reach. He really wants a cigarette, which is daft because this doesn’t even need to be a big deal.  “We pick again, don’t we? Harry?”

Harry’s still staring at the date in Louis’s planner, and he’s not offering up any help at all, the arsehole. Louis wants to kick him again, but he refrains.

“Harry Edward never-to-be- a-Tomlinson.”

Harry does look up at that, as Louis knew he would. “No, hang on, Lou,” he grunts. “This could actually be a good thing.”

“A good thing?” Louis shrieks. “How are two idiots like ourselves meant to plan a lifelong commitment ceremony complete with nice venue, expensive outfits, a whole extravagant reception thingy complete with a meal…” He flounders, trying to think of more things to tick off on his fingers which ultimately makes him panic more. “I don’t know how to plan a wedding! What do people do at weddings?”

“They get married, dumbass,” Harry sighs, then tugs Louis over to him by snagging up his wrist. “Look, if we sit down today and work out our guest list we can invite them by text and email. We can find a venue – I mean, I’m not even that bothered as long as I end up married to you at the end of it.” He eyes Louis carefully. “Although I’m not entirely sure why because right now you look like you want to kick me again.”

“I do want to kick you again,” Louis tells him, then he sighs. “Harry, baby, planning a wedding takes months. We can’t do it in three weeks. I can barely plan our dinner without buggering something up.”

“Look,” Harry argues. “If we don’t do it soon we’re never going to do it. I just think we might as well give this a go, don’t you?”

Louis puts his hands on his hips and glares.

They give it a go. And it goes surprisingly smoothly.

Being rich and having an agent as savvy as Jeff is extremely helpful. They find a lovely little hotel in a secluded little village up north, easy for both their families to get to and with a hotel nearby that can house all their guests with ease. They keep the numbers small – family and close friends only – and they forgo stag nights in favour of having a big nostalgic piss-up at their local pub back in London.

They keep the ceremony simple and short. Louis cries and Harry cries and everyone else in the room cries as they slide rings onto each other’s fingers and embrace like it’s their last. Louis smashes a cake in Harry’s face at the reception, he slowdances with his gran for way too long, he accidentally makes Doris cry because she wanted to dance with him instead, and then that night he fucks Harry into the mattress, lips pressed into his neck and legs tangled under the covers.

“Told you so,” Harry mumbles sleepily when they’re done. He’s spooning Louis from behind, chest sweaty and dick sticky. It’s a little gross but Louis has no intention of moving any time soon. “Told you we could plan the best wedding of all time in three weeks.”

“There were a few things I would have done differently,” Louis says, because he’s a dick and very high-maintenance. “The flowers, for example.”

“You couldn’t give two shits about flowers, you twat,” Harry grumbles, well aware he’s lost the argument by now. Never mind.

Louis loves him very much anyway, and even though Harry was right he’s not going to admit to it. Not until Harry’s done a teensy bit more grovelling and has given him a rimjob, at _least._

*

“Our wedding’s on the front page of Heat magazine,” Harry tells him one morning, pressing a light kiss to the top of his head. “And we got a six page spread and all.”

“What a novelty,” Louis laughs, pushing his glasses up his nose and reaching for his iPad. A quick google search confirms this and he snorts. “God, don’t we look good?”

“We always look good,” Harry says, wrapping his arms around Louis’s shoulders. “A very attractive couple in matching purple attire. Look, it says so right here on page 2.”

“I love us,” Louis says proudly, covering one of Harry’s hands with his own and squeezing.

“I love you too,” Harry answers, and even after all these years it’s still everything. “The best beau I could ever ask for.”

It takes Louis a few seconds to get it, but when he does…

“Oh, you _arse,_ ” he gripes, shoving his chair back and chasing Harry down their hallway. “I take it all back, I fucking hate you.”

Harry snorts, tackles him to the bed, and makes them both late for work as he takes Louis apart and proves just how wrong that statement really is.

Totally and completely worth it.

*

Harry’s twenty-fifth birthday party is a big event. Jeff hires out an entire club and there are over two hundred guests. Louis doesn’t recognise as many of them as he thinks he probably should, so for the most part he ends up skulking round the bar, keen to stay close to familiar faces so he doesn’t seem like a total flake at his own husband’s party.

He finds Perrie easily enough and sticks by her for a bit. She’s only just given birth, bless her, and it’s her and Zayn’s first night leaving the baby and she is not a happy bunny.

“I miss him,” she whines, her perfect pout out in full force. “Honestly, you know that episode of Friends where Rachel makes a tit of herself because she misses her baby so much? I think I’m reaching those levels.”

“Oh, Pez,” Louis chuckles. “You’ll be fine, love. It’s never gonna be easy the first time but you’ll get there. Drink more, maybe?”

“Will I be fine?” Perrie wails. “I don’t even want to drink, Lou. I never thought I’d become this person, yet here I am.” Perhaps counter-productively, she takes a huge slurp from her vodka cranberry. “I might get Zayn to take me home. Would that be bad?”

“Pez, love, you’ve gotta chill,” Louis says as he gives her a one-armed hug. “He’s gonna be fine. Isn’t he with your mum?”

“Yeah,” Perrie says. “Made her drive down to London for one night because I don’t trust anyone else with him yet.” Another slurp. “I don’t think I’m going to trust _anyone_ with him. It’s gonna be me, Zayn, my mum, his mum, maybe a sister.” She sniffs. “My brother isn’t even allowed to hold him, let alone babysit.”

“I’m sure he’ll live,” Louis says. He takes a sip of his own drink – Jack and Coke – and sighs, watching Harry network across the room. “Seriously, do you know any of these people?”

“Not really,” Perrie admits. “Harry’s more popular than I knew.”

“Same, whoops,” Louis says, pulling a face. “Am I a bad husband?”

“To be fair, I doubt even Harry knows all these people,” Perrie says. “It’s a very celebrity event, or that’s what this feels like. I’m guessing he was encouraged to invite people and make it a big deal, wasn’t he?”

“Yeah,” Louis shrugs. “I guess. Still feel a bit bad though. I feel like I should have at least a vague idea of where they all come from, like, what companies and brands and shit.”

“Yes, but contrary to popular opinion you and Harry are actually two separate people,” Perrie tuts, brows raised. “You’re allowed to know people outside of your little bubble of domestic bliss.”

“I know,” Louis says, affronted. “I just like to be in the know.”

“I know,” Perrie echoes, though her voice is dripping with a dry sarcasm. She thrusts her empty glass into Louis’s free hand. “Right, I’m going for a piss. Be a love and get me another vodka cranberry, will you?” Louis nods. “Very weak!”

He chuckles as she goes and then turns to the bar, popping both their empty glasses down and wiping his hands on his jeans. His outfit tonight is simple but classic – black jeans, a black scoop neck t-shirt that shows off Harry’s favourite tattoo, black Vans and a well-tailored tweed blazer. He’s got his hair quiffed, enough scruff on his cheeks and chin to leave some pleasant birthday beard burn on Harry later, but the real star of the show is his make-up. He’s wearing a very dramatic cat-eye with glittering lids, a very sharp contour and dark purple lips. He looks fucking great and he knows it.

His husband is dressed a little less subtly in a leopard print button up, the skinniest of skinny jeans and red Chelsea boots and he looks perfect. Louis watches him wistfully and thinks to himself that he looks radiant, head thrown back in a laugh with his newly trimmed curls all over the place. He forms a new plan – wait for Perrie to come back, buy her that drink, then go over to Harry and suck on his neck a little (it’s his birthday, he’s allowed). He’s just pulling his wallet from his pocket to check how much cash he has left when a voice he doesn’t recognise calling his name stops him in his tracks,

“Louis? Louis Tomlinson? Holy _shit._ ”

He turns, confused, and before his brain can catch up with him he suddenly has an armful of unfamiliar bloke. He hugs back awkwardly, tentative, praying this isn’t going to be a long embrace because he doesn’t do those lightly. When the stranger pulls back, though, he feels his eyes go almost comically wide in recognition, and he really, _really_ wishes he was anywhere but here.

Shit.

“It’s me,” the guy says almost too loudly, very enthusiastic. “It’s Joey.”

_Joey._ More accurately known as Joseph Barnes. Year above Louis in high school, theatre geek, Head Boy, and also the first person Louis ever had sex with.

Shit.

“Oh,” is all Louis can muster. What the _fuck_ is Joseph Barnes doing here, at Harry’s birthday party, chatting to Louis like they’re long lost pals? Louis is absolutely one hundred percent still mad at him. Fuck. “Hello.”

“How have you been?” Joseph asks excitedly, then puts his face uncomfortably close to Louis’s. “Wait, are you wearing make-up?”

“Yep,” Louis says shortly, unsure of whether Joseph’s having a dig or not. Knowing the lad he knew back then he probably is. “Um, so, you live in London now then?”

“Yep, I work at the O2,” Joseph says with a nod. “I’m a bit of a techy, working behind the scenes at the big gigs and stuff. I’m loving it.”

“Good, good,” Louis says, reciprocating the nod awkwardly. Where the hell’s Perrie when you need her? “That’s interesting.”

“Yeah, it really is,” Joseph says. It doesn’t sound like he’s going to ask about what Louis’s doing because his next question is, “I didn’t think you’d know Harry Styles.”

“Likewise,” Louis says, eyes narrowing. “Tell me, how do you know him?”

“We’re fairly good friends, actually,” Joseph says nonchalantly. “We don’t see each other much but we text a lot and go for coffee a couple of times a month.” It’s a lie, of course it is, so Louis fixes his face into a rather neutral expression and nods, hoping Joseph can’t tell he just really, _really_ wants to run away. “So how do you know him then? Are you his make-up artist?”

As if on cue, Louis suddenly feels wonderful familiar presence of his husband sidle up behind him. Joseph’s face lights up.

“Harry,” he yells, reaching out to shake his hand. “Good to see you again, mate, how have you been?” He doesn’t wait for Harry to answer. “Have you met Louis here?”

Harry snorts, clearly taken aback, and Louis lets out a very unattractive bark of laughter. “We’ve met once or twice,” he says, voice slow and dripping with something unreadable, even to Louis. He then drops his arm over Louis’s shoulders, and Louis moves his own hand up automatically to hold the hand dangling by his face. He squeezes it gratefully, and it’s then he realises that his wedding ring must be on show.

The look of pure shock of Joseph’s face is worth it.

“Oh – _oh,_ ” he says, then howls out another awkward laugh. “You two are married?”

“Yep,” Louis says, popping the P for emphasis he probably doesn’t need. Harry kisses the top of his head and he leans into him happily. “Together for coming on seven years now.”

“Fair play,” Joseph says, sounding impressed in a way that makes Louis uncomfortable. “Good job, Lou.”

Louis raises his eyebrows again. “Yeah, he’s a… he’s a keeper.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know your name,” Harry says to Joseph. Louis has to stifle a giggle. “Who are you? Have we met?”

“I’m… I’m Joseph. Joseph Barnes,” Joseph says with a huge false smile. “Me and Louis actually go way back, don’t we, Lou?”

“You could say that,” Louis mutters. He squeezes Harry’s hand tightly before he says, “Joe and I had a bit of a thing back in high school.”

“Back in high… oh shit, he’s _that_ Joe?” Harry asks disbelievingly. “Oh.”

Joseph smirks. “I see you have heard of me then.”

“Not for a while,” Harry replies, voice sharp. Louis really has no idea what’s happening here. “In fact, I think he mentioned you only, like, once and that was a long time ago.”

“Hmm,” is Joseph’s reply, a sound that comes out forced through his pursed lips. “I mean, fair enough. There wasn’t much… _significant_ about what we had.”

Louis feels Harry stiffen behind him and he bites his own lip before he makes a really cutting comment because, really, what an _arse._ It was a good ten years ago now so he’s not bothered anymore, not really, but when he casts his mind back to long, rather awkward conversations about Harry’s first time and thinks how frequently they occurred it makes Louis’s blood boil a bit. Louis had wanted to make sure that Harry was positive because his own first time with Joseph had been a mess – there was not enough lube and too much blood and not enough between them for any awkwardness (or bitterness on Louis’s half) to ever dispel – and Louis still remembers it with disdain.

Joseph knew it was Louis’s first time, yet he still left him on his own in that unfamiliar bed at the house party, stalking out of there like Louis’s discomfort had been more of an inconvenience than anything else.

So, yeah, maybe they had been insignificant to one another, but what they did was certainly significant. And Harry knows this all too well.

“Well, it’s just as well you found him insignificant because now I’m the lucky one,” Harry bites out. Louis adores him. “He’s a proper keeper, this one.”

“Punching a bit though, aren’t you, Lou?” Joseph says, ignoring Harry completely and focusing his stony eyes onto Louis. “S’funny ‘cos when I knew you back then you were a right skinny thing with funny hair.”

“Yeah, but that was in high school,” Louis grits out. “You weren’t exactly a looker then either.”

“Didn’t stop you from hitting it,” Joseph says with a wink. Louis wants to snap that he could say the exact same when he says, “Still though, you got Harry Styles. That’s some pretty impressive work.”

“Wasn’t too hard to win me over,” Harry says loudly. “And he’s pretty easy to fall in love with, this guy. Love of my life for sure.”

“Hmmm,” Joseph says again. “It’s funny because Mr. Findell said you weren’t going to amount to anything once, do you remember that? And now you’re married to Harry Styles, eh?”

“I do a bit more than that,” Louis scoffs. He’s really fucking annoyed now. “I run a successful YouTube channel and business, thank you very much.”

“You have a YouTube channel?” Joseph sneers. “Is that’s what’s with all this make-up?”

“Look, pal, I think we’ve had enough of this conversation,” Harry says, loud and firm. His grip on Louis’s fingers is almost unbearably tight but Louis has no intention of letting go. “I think you need to leave.”

“Yeah, I think you’re right,” Joseph says, smirk wide and false. “This party sucks anyway. Have a nice life, Louis.”

“I hope you don’t,” Louis yells after him as he disappears into the crowd. He isn’t even aware he’s trembling as much as he is until Harry crushes him into his side, winding his arms around Louis’s middle and holding him in place with an almost painful vice-grip. He’s not much better off himself; Louis hasn’t seen him this angry or upset since he caught Louis going through some of the hate comments on his blog.

“Harry,” he says weakly, nudging him so he opens his arms enough for Louis to press them chest to chest. Breathing heavily, he rests his head against Harry’s pec and takes a couple of seconds to try and compose himself. “Harry, I…”

“I’m so angry,” Harry spits, clutching Louis like he’s going to be taken away from him. “What the fuck? Who the fuck? _What the fuck?_ ”

“I’m so sorry,” Louis says, and it comes out strangled. “He cornered me when he recognised me, I couldn’t run away.”

“Bastard,” Harry hisses. He runs a hand slowly up Louis’s back then carefully pulls back enough so he can study Louis’s face. “I saw him lean right into you and I wasn’t having it. And you looked ready to hit him and all.”

“I was ready to hit him,” Louis mutters darkly. “I’m still ready to hit him. _God,_ Haz, he’s made me feel like such utter wank.”

“And me,” says Harry sadly. He brushes a stray bit of hair from Louis’s now mostly ruined quiff from his forehead and sighs. “Nobody talks to you like that. Nobody should be able to talk to _anyone_ like that.”

“I know,” Louis says miserably. There’s a knot in his stomach, tight and low, and he’s not sure why he’s let this get to him so much but he wants about thirty more whisky cokes and a long cry. The virginity issue was such a big thing to him for such a long time and they both know it. “I mean, I should be over it, right? Like, I haven’t thought about it in so long and I don’t really care anymore because I’ve got you and I trust you so much, but for him to even have the audacity to say those things…”

“I’m gonna kill him,” Harry says lowly. He presses a hard kiss onto Louis’s forehead. “He doesn’t get to talk about you like what you had was even worth remembering. He doesn’t get to talk to you like he knows you after all these fucking years.”

Louis snorts. “Fucking calling me a skinny thing with shit hair. We all had shit hair back then. Arsehole.”

“Not only that, how dare he tell you that I’m out of your league?” Harry barrels on hotly. “Jesus Christ, Louis, I’m so _angry._ I fell in love with that skinny thing with shit hair, didn’t I? And who even cares? Just because I’m a supermodel doesn’t mean I can’t fall in love with who I want.”

The earnestness of his voice makes Louis want to hide him away from the world forever and protect him from any hate, any fucking pricks like that, just anything that isn’t right. Harry, bless him, has always had a big issue with the modelling world lording people just for being good looking and not for the quality of their character, and the shallowness of the industry they’re in gets to them both at times. Harry’s such a softie and Louis doesn’t know how to make things okay.

“Sweetheart,” he tries, hoping he sounds level and diplomatic. “It’s true that you’re better looking than me, but that’s okay. I know you’re not with me for my looks and I hope you know it works both ways. I think we’ve passed that by now anyway.”

“That’s not the point,” Harry says dejectedly. “I think you’re so beautiful.”

“I know you do, and I think you’re the loveliest boy in the whole world,” Louis says with a soft smile, his Harry smile. “And for what it’s worth you’re the love of my life too. I don’t know if I’ve ever said that to you out loud but you are.”

“Louis,” Harry breathes, cupping the back of his neck gently. The club is loud, but Harry’s smile is louder. “ _God._ What’s the policy on kissing your pretty purple lips?”

“Negotiable,” Louis laughs. “Before it would have been a solid no but I think now it can be arranged.”

Harry kisses him with bite, the hand on the back of his neck now more possessive than gentle, reassuring yet greedy. Louis can’t say he minds. He opens his mouth for him easily and pretty soon it’s turned into a heated snog, definitely too heated for a birthday party with this many guests (and photographers). Worth it though, because even though he would normally hate this many eyes on him regardless of the situation, he’s quite chuffed to say he’s got Harry Styles as the love of his life.

When they pull apart Harry’s got a comical purple moustache that Louis wipes off with a spit-damp thumb and a merry giggle. He’s probably a mess himself and the make-up artist in him wants to go to the bathroom and tidy himself up, but the husband in him wants to stay by Harry’s side for the rest of the night and also for the next eighty years.

“Want me to go over and ask security to get him kicked out?” he asks Harry, eyes twinkling and eyebrows waggling. “He was very rude to the birthday boy, _and_ he did also say your party was shit.”

“Yes,” Harry replies, nodding his head and smirking. “Yes, that’s an excellent plan. Here, I’ll do it.”

One more quick kiss on the lips and then Harry’s striding over to one of the bouncers, shaking his hair our as he goes. Louis beams after him proudly and wipes his mouth carelessly with the back of his hand. He could really do with another drink.

“Fuckin’ hell, Lou, what happened there?” Liam’s voice asks from behind him. Louis turns and spots him approaching looking confused and a little stressed, a very pregnant Sophia on his other side, a hand clutching at Liam’s elbow. “Who the hell was that?”

“Um,” Louis says stupidly, then pulls a face. “Um, well. That was the first person I ever had sex with.”

“Oh,” Liam says loudly, shocked. He then starts laughing. “No wonder Harry looked ready to batter him.”

“He’s a cunt,” Louis says, unabashed. “Tried to belittle me by talking up his friendship with Harry before he realised we were actually married, then basically just said some really horrible catty things. It’s pissed up both right off.”

“Bloody hell,” Liam mutters. “So has Harry gone to get him kicked out?”

“Yep,” Louis hums happily. They watch as Harry leans over to say something into the security guard’s ear, who then shrugs and signals one of the other bouncer’s over. Harry points out Joseph and they both move over, one clapping him on the shoulder and the other pointing to the door. Joseph’s mouth drops open and he looks thunderous, but once he realises the security guards aren’t going anywhere and he has to leave he shuffles out of there with his tail between his legs. It looks like he’s cursing to himself.

“I love Harry,” Louis declares loudly, grinning across the room. Harry blows him a kiss and winks, and Louis pretends to catch it and presses it onto his mouth.

“We know,” Sophia says long-sufferingly. “And we thought the two of you getting married would shut you up but it just hasn’t.”

Louis shrugs and flips them off. He doesn’t really care what either of them have to say, not after tonight. He has the _best guy._

*


	9. Flat Out Fabulous

*****

__

_“From which stars have we fallen to meet each other here?” – Friedrich Nietzsche_

*

Two big things happen in the month of April.

One is that Louis gets offered a job at Gucci for more money than he knows what to do with. The other is that Urban Decay gets in touch and they ask if he wants to collaborate with them.

Louis says yes to Gucci in seconds and signs the twelve month contract of his dreams. There’s a lot more travelling than in any of his previous posts but all expenses are paid for, plus the list of hotels they offer him for his first post (a shoot in fucking Bali, for fuck’s sake) are all five-star and completely over the top. He doesn’t mind at _all._

Urban Decay is something he really has to think about, however. His own line is something he’s always dreamed about, but now the cards are actually on the table it’s terrifying, implausible, and he just blanks. Before he says yes, he goes through his desk drawers and pulls out the pages and pages of sketches and plans he’s created over the years, and he spends a good few hours sat on his floor just going over them and over them, tracing scrappy pencil lines with his fingers and shaking his head in disbelief.

Harry finds him eventually, of course he does, and he sits cross-legged opposite him. He doesn’t say a word until Louis does, and that in itself is long enough for Louis to work himself up in a panic.

“I can’t,” he breathes out. His throat hurts a lot and he wants a pint or seven. “I can’t, Harry. How can I say yes?”

“Because you’re brilliant,” Harry says, shuffling forward and placing a hand on Louis’s knee, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Look at all this, Louis. You can’t turn this down, you just can’t.”

“They’re all shit though,” Louis says, annoyed. He’s not sure why he ever thought he could do this. “I just… no, I can’t, Harry, I just can’t.”

“Yes, you can,” Harry promises. “You don’t have to do all the work, love. They’ll help you and they’ll work with you.”

“My ideas all suck,” Louis argues. “None of these are good enough for a brand like Urban Decay. None of them stand out, none of them are anything special, I mean…”

“ _Louis,_ ” Harry says firmly, taking Louis’s face in his hands so he has no choice but to look at him. “Your ideas are good. You are good. They wouldn’t want you for a collab if they didn’t think you were good for the job.”

Louis shrugs. “Maybe they just asked me because they wanted a bloke?”

Harry whines and rolls his eyes. “ _No,_ ” he growls. “No, no, _no._ Louis. No.”

Louis huffs and glares. “You can’t just keep saying no. That isn’t an argument, dipshit.”

“You are the best make-up artist around right now,” Harry says, nodding. “You are an asset and you are _good._ ” He leans forward and kisses Louis’s forehead, and Louis hates the way he finds himself sink into it, his shoulders sagging. Harry takes that as his cue to crawl forward and wrap his arms around Louis’s shoulders, pulling him flush against his chest. “What’s the spec?”

Louis sighs again. “A fucking dream, to be honest. They want an eyeshadow palette with twelve colours, a blush palette with six, three lip colours and liners of my choice, then something else I get to pick.”

“Lou…” Harry says disbelievingly, then nuzzles his nose at the skin behind Louis’s ear. “If you think for one second you’re not taking this up then I’m afraid you’re much mistaken.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Louis scoffs. “Of course I’m saying yes. How could I not say yes?”

He feels Harry’s smile more than he sees it. “There’s my boy,” Harry grins. “You drama queen. You just wanted a cuddle, didn’t you?”

“No,” Louis snaps. “Fuck you again.”

Harry just hums into the back of his neck. “I love you,” he mumbles. “And congratulations, baby. I…” He laughs softly. “Congratulations doesn’t feel like the right word, damn. I’m literally so proud of you, darling, I’m so, _so_ proud, like I just…”

“Fuck, come here,” Louis says, and he grips Harry’s face and starts to kiss him messily, but Harry’s smiling too much for it to go on for long. “ _Haz._ ”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Harry chuckles. “I just… fuck, Lou. I feel like there’s nobody in the world prouder than I am right now, and that’s a great feeling.”

Louis softens and kisses him again. “You’re such a loser,” he grins against his mouth. “ _God,_ I can’t believe this. Urban Decay, man, Urban _Decay._ ”

“I know, _man,_ ” Harry mimics, then laughs even louder when Louis swats at him. He nudges them forward and pins Louis’s arms above his head, looming over him on their decorative fluffy rug. “Can I lick champagne out of your collarbones now?”

“What, right here on the fluffy rug?” Louis asks, brows raised. Harry shrugs.

“Or I could carry you to the bedroom?” he muses. “Up to you; it’s your evening after all.”

Louis drags him down into a messy kiss, and after a while Harry carries him to the bedroom and presses inside him slowly, taking his time pressing kisses all over Louis’s body and murmuring words into Louis’s hot skin that make him squirm and whine and cling to Harry all that tighter.

(The bottle of 2004 Dom Pérignon sits untouched on the bedside table.)

From then onwards Louis works diligently with the Urban Decay team, fitting in meetings around his new hectic schedule with Gucci and often working well into the night. There are often nights where Harry has to forcibly close his laptop or wrestle his sketchpad off him just so he gets even a few hours of sleep, but thankfully Urban Decay are willing to be quite flexible with the deadlines. They’re currently aiming to get the line out just before autumn starts, so Louis does have a bit of leeway, thank goodness.

For his wildcard product he picks a mascara, and he decides to name it Tall, Dark & Handsome because Harry hates mascara and at least he finds himself funny. After that, naming all the individual shades comes quite easy, and he even lets Perrie, Eleanor, Sophia, and Lottie name one each because he thinks they’ve earned that right. It’s all good fun, and the final meeting before the launch really creeps up on him because before he knows it, he’s got all the packaging designed and prototyped, he’s got the formulas as he wants them, he’s got a section of his own on the website with information leaflets about the colours and the tones that best suit your face shape or your hair, eye, or skin colour, and he’s even got his outfit picked out for the launch party.

The only thing missing is the line name.

He’s had a million and one ideas, tossing countless acronyms and compliments and colours and all of it over and over in his mind for months. But nothing’s stuck; nothing is _right._ Nothing screams ‘this is the name of Louis Tomlinson’s make-up release’ like he needs it to, and he’s starting to panic because he’s running out of time.

As the brand are based in the States, he’s treated to an all-expenses paid trip to southern California. He and Harry are spending four nights in a glorious five-star hotel overlooking golden beaches and palm trees, but in all honesty Louis hasn’t registered any of it. He’s nervous, and even though Harry had dragged him to bed and been adamant he wasn’t allowed to stress, he’s spent the entire time they’ve been on American soil doing just that.

Unable to sleep and bored of tossing and turning, he climbs out of bed and pulls on a jumper, then moves through into the living area to make himself a cuppa. As the kettle boils, he settles himself down at the table with his sketchpad and a pencil, chewing on the end of it as he racks his brains for something, _anything_ that fits perfectly with his perfect idea.

Countless pieces of paper end up crumpled and he’s had to stop to sharpen his pencil so many times there’s a little pile of shavings in the middle of the table by the time the sun rises. He sighs and pushes it all away, pissed off at himself for not being able to find it as well as completely exhausted. The clock on the telly reads 7:52, which means he’s been sat here freaking out for nearly four and a half hours now.

Brilliant. Just brilliant.

He gets up and makes himself another cuppa, scratching at the back of his head roughly in irritation. He’s fucked, he’s completely fucked, he’s only got three hours until he has to go and present his entire brand to the marketing people and if he doesn’t have a name for it then he’s either going to be laughed out of there, or his baby will be given some completely wrong, generic, bullshit capitalist name that Louis won’t be able to stand…

“Hey, angel,” Harry’s voice says from behind him suddenly, jarring him from his thoughts. “I missed waking up to you. How you feeling, you okay?”

But Louis doesn’t answer him. “What did you just say to me?” he asks instead, spinning round with wide, wild eyes. “Harry?”

Harry looks rather bewildered. “Um, I asked if you were nervous?” He coughs. “Are you? You are, aren’t you?”

“No, before that,” Louis snaps, waving his hand impatiently.

“Um, I called you angel,” Harry says, still sounding painfully confused. “Hey, angel.”

“Hey Angel,” Louis repeats under his breath, then without any warning whatsoever launches himself into Harry’s arms. Harry lets out a yelp of surprise and tries to catch him but fails, and the pair end up toppling to the floor in a mess of limbs, not that Louis’s bothered. He’s too busy kissing all over Harry’s face, the smooches interspersed with chants of “fuck” and “thank you” and “I motherfucking _love you._ ”

“I love you too,” Harry whines as he tries (and fails) to bat Louis away. “But _ow,_ Lou, _Christ._ A little warning would have been nice.”

“Sorry, darling,” Louis says – fucking _giggles_. He helps Harry sit up and then cups his face, staring at him happily as Harry glares at him. Harry eventually scoops him up and moves them both back into a standing position, patting Louis’s hip as they move back towards the table. “No, but I need you to look at this. _This…_ ” He gestures around him, pointing to the overflowing wastepaper bin and the eight mugs of cold tea. “I couldn’t think of a name. Didn’t have one until, like, ten seconds ago. I love you, you’re brilliant.”

“Hey Angel, eh?” Harry smirks, finally picking up on it. “You’re gonna call your stuff Hey Angel?”

“I am,” Louis confirms. “Isn’t it cool?”

“Really fucking cool,” Harry says, turning around and wrapping his arms around Louis’s middle, scooping him up and pressing a happy, closed-mouth kiss onto his lips. “I love it. It’s very you.” He grins. “Obviously, because it’s named after you and you are my angel.”

“Not even that,” Louis says, but he has to admit he feels a little like he’s soaring. “Make-up needs to make you feel good. You deserve to feel like an angel, don’t you?”

“You do, always,” Harry says, then kisses Louis again with a bright smile. “I’m so fucking proud of you, darling. It’s such a good name.”

“Thanks, but credit where credit’s due,” Louis smirks, bopping Harry on the nose and then kissing the tip of it. “All praise and acclaim goes to my very own angel, Harry Edward Styles.”

“Mmm, is that how you’re going to introduce me in the meeting?” Harry laughs. Louis nods and smacks another kiss onto his mouth. “Okay, I’ll take it.”

“God, I thought I’d never get a name,” Louis says with a groan, resting his head on Harry’s shoulder. “I thought I was gonna go in there and name it, like, Tommo for UD or something shit like that because I had no idea.”

“UD sounds like a urinary disease,” Harry supplies helpfully, and Louis pokes him in the ribs _hard._ “Ow! I’m just saying.”

“That’s the company that’s paying for our next few holidays,” Louis says sternly, but he’s grinning as he says it. “Oh, shit, we better go get ready. I need to do my make-up. And yours, you sweaty beast.”

“I love you,” Harry says, kissing him quick. “Are you gonna do my make-up there then?”

“Probably?” Louis hums, tapping his chin a few times. “Though we won’t have time for anything if we don’t go soon.” He pats Harry’s hip. “I call first dibs on the shower.”

He races off and rushes through the bathroom, all the while mentally going over both his and Harry’s make-up looks in his head. There’s blues and golds from his palette in his eye look, as well as a strong brown lip. It’s something he can pull off and pull off well, so he doesn’t dwell too long on that. He’s more worried about Harry’s look, though he’s practiced countless times and could probably do it in his sleep by now.

There’s more to it than that, though.

At the start, the thought of asking a male model – even if the model happened to be his husband; a husband who _offered_ , no less – had felt terrifying. He’d spend all his time as a blogger and a make-up artist focusing on male make-up, yet when it actually came down to it he wasn’t sure where to go for his defining piece.

Harry isn’t just some pretty bloke from the streets. He’s well known and well respected, and Louis was almost against using him altogether because he didn’t want this to impact both their careers if it all went to shit. But Harry being Harry had flat-out refused to let Louis use anyone else, and after a long evening where Louis had gotten rather pissed on Chablis and ended up spilling his worries Harry had kissed him square on the mouth and told him to shut the fuck up.

“For better or for worse, you piece of shit,” he’d said firmly. “I’m doing this whether you like it or not. I’m all for it, Urban Decay are all for it; hell, you’re all for it most of the time, you weirdo.”

“Yeah, but…” Louis started, cutting himself off with a hiccup. “You’re too special to me for you to come down with me.”

“Aw, Lou,” Harry cooed, tickling him under the chin. “That’s sweet. But in all seriousness, babe, I really wanna do this. If that’s what it takes for you to believe in yourself…”

“I believe in myself,” Louis interrupted. “I believe in you as well. It’s the rest of the world I don’t fucking trust.”

Harry had sighed and kissed him softly, and for a while everything was sad but okay because they were doing this. Even if it went badly they still had each other, and Louis thinks that the rest of the world could be saying horrible things on his social media and his YouTube channel, but he’d be alright with it if Harry was still by his side through it all.

Once out the shower, he dries off and shouts for Harry to let him know the bathroom’s free. He pulls on boxers and settles himself down at the vanity, arranging his products out one by one. He takes a deep breath and hums under his breath as he starts to apply his primer, and by the time he’s onto his blusher Harry’s remerged, skin pink from the shower and hair limp against his shoulders.

“Love it when you sing to yourself,” Louis hears from behind him, and he grins despite the fact he’s trying to focus on blending here. “You look gorgeous, Lou, absolutely stunning.”

“You would say that,” Louis snorts, setting his brush down so he can grab his Fix+. “But I do love this look, I have to admit.”

“My talented baby,” Harry chuckles, moving over and kissing the top of his head. “You got long to go?”

Louis shakes his head. “I’d like to leave in, like, twenty minutes? I know we’ll be early, but you know. For my own peace of mind.”

“Yeah, course,” Harry nods. “Anything in particular you want me to wear?”

“All black,” Louis answers quickly. He’s been thinking about this for a while. “I know you love your loud shirts, babe, but I need the make-up to be the focus. Sorry.”

Now it’s Harry’s turn to snort. “Don’t apologise. It’s your day, angel.”

Louis has to bite his tongue to stop his grin, or else he’ll crease the fuck out of his concealer. “You’re the worst,” he tells him. “Go get ready, terrible man.”

“Love you, _man,_ ” Harry chortles as he moves across the room to grab some boxers. Louis flips him off blindly, picks up his brush again, and pointedly does _not_ giggle.

The meeting is at some big fancy office that Louis’s been to a few times now, and even though traffic is usually terrible they get there with time to spare. Leigh-Anne, Louis’s female model of choice, is meeting them there so Louis can do her make-up before the line is formally introduced. They meet her in a well-lit room a couple of floors down from the boardroom and she greets them both with enthusiastic hugs.

“It’s your day!” she squeaks, smacking a kiss onto Louis’s cheek. “How are you feeling, darling?”

“Like I’m about to vom all over the dressing table,” Louis admits with a shaky laugh. “Right, let’s not talk about it. Who wants to go first?”

“Leigh can,” Harry says, and pulls a face. “I don’t want that shit on my face any longer than it needs to be.”

“You’re not cute,” Louis tells him sternly. “But fine. Leigh sits nice and still for me anyways, so this’ll be a breeze.”

Leigh-Anne grins. “Of course I will. I’m just honoured to be here anyway, Lou, seriously. I can’t believe you’re letting me model for this.”

“Of course, babe,” Louis says, half-disbelieving. “If you think I was going to settle for anything less than a supermodel…”

A dark flush settles high on her cheeks and she swats at him. “Shut up,” she laughs. “I’m still very much an amateur.”

“A gorgeous amateur with a great face for make-up,” he grins, picking up his moisturiser. “Let’s get you glammed, yeah?”

It takes twenty minutes or so to finish Leigh’s make-up, a smoky eye with red and orange undertones, and when he steps back to admire his handiwork he feels a surge of pride. Sometimes he can’t even believe his own skills; can’t believe he’s here at the top at all. But there’s no time for doubt right now. He grins and lifts a bottle of setting spray up, giving it a quick shake, and Leigh obediently closes her eyes and lifts her chin. Once she’s all set, she stands up and moves out the way, letting Harry take her place in the chair.

“Thanks, Lou,” she says with the biggest grin. “Fuck, I look amazing.”

Louis mirrors her smile. “Go and take some selfies, you. I know you’re gagging to.”

She laughs and grabs her phone, moving into the corner closer to the window. Harry grins up at him and flicks his hair over his shoulders. “Right, come on then.”

Louis rolls his eyes as he reaches for his moisturiser. “Saddle up, sweetheart. This isn’t a look for the faint-hearted.”

“You’ve practiced this on me a gajillion times,” Harry says knowingly. “Come on then. Make me beautiful.”

Pumping some primer onto the back of his hand, Louis starts working diligently on Harry’s face. He isn’t lying when he says it’s a long process, but it’s something he knows well by now, and he knows Harry’s face like the back of his hand. His selection of products also makes it easy – it’s pretty great when you get to craft make-up the exact way you like it – so within half an hour Harry’s all done. His eyes are blue and gold, his cheeks chiselled and rosy, his lips a nude purple. He looks gorgeous, and Louis inexplicably wants to cry at his own creation.

“Oh,” is all he says when Harry looks in the mirror and breaks out into a beam that could rival the one he wore on their wedding day. “Harry…”

“Come here,” Harry instructs, then tugs his husband into the tightest hug he dares. Louis’s so grateful for setting spray because he just wants to bury his face in Harry’s chest, and he lets himself do it for just a few seconds before he pulls back and examines him again.

“I love it,” he says, voice cracking just a little. “I love both your looks. Fuck. _Fuck._ ” He presses his hands together and raises them to his lips. “I really am quite good at this make-up thing, aren’t I?”

“The very best,” Leigh chirps enthusiastically, making her way back across the room to squeeze his shoulders. “This is honestly the best I’ve ever looked.”

“Same,” Harry croaks, and he leans forward just enough to lace their fingers, giving Louis’s hand a squeeze. “You know I normally can’t stand make-up on my face but this…”

“Yeah, alright, creep,” Louis laughs. “I’m already going home with you after this, you don’t need to lie about loving it.”

“I’m not,” Harry insists, but before they can take the argument any further there’s a knock on the door and a young lad wearing a headset pokes his head around.

“Louis Tomlinson?” he asks. Louis nods and drops Harry’s hand to step forward. “I’m here to take you up to the board room, if you’re ready.”

“Yeah,” Louis says, turning around and pulling a face. “Wait, can I come and pack all my things up after?”

The lad nods. “Yeah, sure. I’ll lock this door and give you the key, just hand it in at the front desk after.”

“Cheers,” Louis says, taking a deep breath before he grabs his portfolio and starts to follow the boy out of there, Harry and Leigh right behind. A quick pinch to Louis’s hip lets him know that Harry’s close by as they approach the office, and with rocks in his tummy and a heart beating so loudly he’s surprised that they can’t hear it outside his body he reaches back enough so their fingers brush. It’s not a lot but it’s just enough to make Louis feel a little better.

The boardroom houses a lot of people – some familiar faces and some Louis has no idea about. The corporate environment has always made him a bit uncomfortable, and there’s still a visceral reaction for him to turn away whenever he sees men in suits staring at him. They’ve always been the most likely to make the catty comment, after all. Louis holds his head high, however, because they’re here to approve his work even if they don’t approve of him, and at the end of the day he isn’t launching this line because he wants to make money.

“Hello,” Harry greets somewhere behind him with a quick wave, and it’s such a Harry thing to do that Louis can’t help but grin. It’s comforting to have Harry in here, and Louis thanks his lucky stars once again that he’s married to a supermodel.

“Morning, ladies and gentlemen,” he says, greeting the wider room. He recognises Tim, the company CEO, and he leans forward to shake his hand with a smile. “Thank-you for spending some time with me today.”

“Great to see you again, Louis,” Tim grins, moving back so Louis can shake Wende, Chief Creative Officer’s hand. “We’re all very excited to get behind this.”

“That’s good to hear,” Louis says with a shy laugh. “I, um, I have some ideas to share that I’m rather proud of, and I hope you all will be too.”

Tim nods, clearing his throat as he stands up to talk to everyone at the table. “I think we’re all pretty much in agreement that this line is going to go ahead next month. We love all your ideas and we think the public will too.”

Louis doesn’t even try to bite back his grin. “Next month? Really?”

“Absolutely,” Tim nods again. “That’s if you’re happy with everything?”

“I am,” Louis confirms. “And I have a name for it now, because I did some thinking and I didn’t really want it to be called Louis Tomlinson for Urban Decay or anything like that.”

“Okay, let’s hear it,” encourages Tim.

“I want the line to be called Hey Angel,” Louis says, rushing it out all in one breath because this feels like biggest deal of all. “It’s… well, there’s a couple of reasons for this to be honest.”

“Hey Angel,” Wende parrots, like she’s testing the words out on her tongue. “I like that a lot, Louis. Hey Angel.”

“I think that everyone has the right to be an angel,” Louis says, purposefully not looking at any of the toffs in suits as he says it. “Make-up was an eye-opener for me and it upped my self-esteem like nothing else, and I think that with these products – well, beginners can learn from my little accompanying books, and people who already wear a lot of make-up will just be able to buy these high-quality, gorgeous products that I put my heart and soul into.”

“I think it’s really great, Louis,” Tim says earnestly. Louis glowers and accepts his second handshake. “We’ll get a meeting set up with the design team so they can design the logo.” He pauses and turns to Wende. “Louis, do you want your face on the packaging?”

Louis blanches. “My… my face?”

Tim nods. “Yeah, because even though you’re not naming it after yourself we still want to make clear it’s a collaboration with yourself.”

“I…” Louis flounders, turning to look at Leigh, then at Harry. “Well, I brought my models along today because I figured you’d want, you know, proper models wearing the looks on your boxes.”

Tim and Wende both shake their heads in sync. “Not on the front of them,” Wende says. “We’ll put your models on the displays and billboards and the like, but really we want _you_ to be our focal point.”

“Oh,” Louis replies stupidly, shaking his head. “Um, well. I guess… I guess we could do that.”

“Yeah?” Tim questions. “If you’re uncomfortable with that, we can just go ahead with your signature.”

“No, no,” Louis shakes his head again. “I’m just… surprised you wanted a bloke in make-up on the front.”

“Louis,” Wende says slowly, not unkindly, “we asked you for a reason. You are hugely influential and you want to share a great message. We’ve been very interested in getting behind that since day one.”

“Oh,” Louis says again, his stomach lurching a little. “Wow. Okay then.”

“I mean, in terms of your models as well, you’ve got two very gorgeous people sat there that we’d love to take on,” Wende continues. “If they’re both okay with being on the displays and billboards and stuff like that.”

“Absolutely,” Harry says resolutely, and Louis could _cry_ at the determination in his voice. “Anything you need us to do we’ll do it, won’t we, Leigh?” Leigh nods and he grins over at Louis before turning back to Tim and Wende. “My management have agreed on my terms, but honestly? I’m happy with whatever, as long as it’s getting Louis’s name out there.”

“Excellent,” Tim says happily. “We’ll get photoshoots arranged for all three of you while you’re still out here.” He hums thoughtfully. “Can you extend your trip if necessary?”

“I’ve gotta be back in London for next Tuesday at the latest,” Louis says. “Haz? Leigh?”

“Same as Louis,” Harry nods, and Leigh just shakes her head. “But again, once we’ve all carried out our commitments in London we can come back. Whatever it takes to make this perfect.”

“Perfect,” Wende beams. “Welcome on board, you three. Let’s make Hey Angel the best it can be, yeah?”

Louis nods, still a little overwhelmed at the whole thing, and drops into his seat at long last. Silently, Harry reaches for his hand under the table and gives it a squeeze, and when Louis squeezes back and they share a grin he truly feels like this is the happiest he’s ever been.

And this is only the start of it all.

*

They grab drive-thru from KFC for their dinner on the way back from the airport, and by the time they’re home Harry looks like he can barely keep his eyes open, even though it’s Louis whose barely slept these past few days. Louis gives him a long kiss and a pat on the hip, sending him on his way to bed with the promise he’ll be along soon. He feels more wired than he’s felt in a while though, so he makes himself a cup of tea and heads to his studio for a bit.

It’s nice to be home and it’s even nicer to be amongst his make-up, _his_ make-up line sat on his desk in its gorgeous gold and white packaging. It’s still the prototype, of course, but pretty soon they’ll be stamped with UD: HEY ANGEL by LOUIS TOMLINSON, and it’s something that makes him giddy and giggly just thinking about it.

Without thinking much, he sets his mug down and grabs his vlogging camera, setting it up on his desk and leaning back in his chair so he’s in focus. He flicks on the lamp beside him and spends a couple of minutes making sure he’s crisp on the screen, then he presses record. He’s looked better in videos, he has to admit, but even with day-old make-up and slightly greasy hair he wants to make this video. He needs to get these words out now before he loses his nerve.

“Hey guys,” he says quietly. “This video is pretty rushed, as you can probably tell, but I feel like if I don’t get this news out right now I’m going to burst.” He grins. “This is, like, the biggest thing I’ve ever done in my life. This is definitely the biggest thing I’ve ever told you guys, like, even bigger than me getting married.” He blanches suddenly. “Don’t tell Harry I said that.”

He snorts at himself and barrels on. “So recently I’ve been working with this little brand called Urban Decay.” He pauses and shakes his head for effect. “I know right. I’m as surprised as you are. Little old me has been working with Urban bloody Decay and in a month or so, some products with my name on it might just be hitting the shelves.”

“This has truly been the biggest honour and I’m so happy that Urban Decay took a chance on this bloke from Doncaster to launch a line with them, truly I am. It’s… well, you know how I’m always trying to work for the gender neutrality of make-up and this… this is, like, beyond my wildest dreams.” He takes another deep breath. “You know, when I was at uni and I started getting to make-up and drawing up ideas for products I’d love to create I never, _ever_ thought I’d ever get to create them, let alone for one of my favourite brands.”

He reaches for his mug and takes a slurp. “The products are… well, I wanted to create something versatile that would work with all skin types, all skin tones, all genders, that kind of thing. So what I’ve created is an eyeshadow palette with all my favourite shades, four brights and eight neutrals. A mix of mattes and shimmers; basically everything I think you need for a day look that you could also take to night time if you had to. Then we’ve got three lip colours – a classic red, a nude, and a dark purple. They come in kits so you get the lipstick and the liner that goes with it, and I’m obsessed.” He snorts. “I actually had the red one on but I just had a KFC for my tea so it’s probably gone.” Another snort. “I probably look like complete shit right now but that’s by the by.”

He waves his hand and barrels on. “There’s also a mascara and then there’s my blush palette. All the blushes you’ll ever need in one place, plus there’s a contour shade and a pinky highlight.” He shrugs and grins. “Wouldn’t be a collab with me if it didn’t include a super pigmented highlight, now, would it?”

Setting his mug down, he rubs his hands together nervously and licks his lips. “They’ll be out sometime next month, I believe. I think I want to keep the name a secret for now, mainly because it’s…” He can’t help the way he grins softly to himself. “It’s a special name that means very much a lot to me, and I know it’s super lame and embarrassing but it’s important to me that nobody trashes the name on this video so, yeah, I’ll keep that to meself, I think.”

With another deep breath he runs a hand through his hair and says, “Before I wrap up this rambling video I just wanna mention that this line is absolutely dedicated to each and every one of you. To everyone who has supported me, who has left a nice comment or a kind word, or even if you just watch my videos at all, this line is for you. I wouldn’t be here without you guys and that means the absolute world. I love you all more than I can say, and thank you for letting this little make-up hoe achieve his teenage pipedream.”

In a very Harry manner, he presses his palms together and pushes them forward to blow a kiss at the camera. “Thanks for watching, everyone. I’m gonna upload this now before I lose my nerve, and yeah, feel free to comment or tweet me any questions and I’ll answer them in the morning. Night, guys.”

He shuts the filming off, then plugs the camera into his iMac and uploads it to YouTube before he can change his mind. Once it’s finished uploading he moves away quickly, not even bothering to shut the computer down, and hurries into his bedroom. He strips down to his boxers and climbs into bed next to Harry, and once he’s curled up around him and tugged his heavy arm comfortingly around his waist, he closes his eyes and falls asleep with the biggest smile on his face.

*

Louis really hates the portrait of him they’re using on the Hey Angel boxes.

He can’t quite work out _why_ he hates it so much because his make-up looks great and he’s got a wide, genuine beam on his face that Harry says makes him look like an actual angel. But he hates it regardless, and he’s annoyed because at this bloody launch party no matter where he looks, _there_ it is.

He takes another sip of his champagne and scowls at the glass. He’s already on his second, and while he would love to get absolutely shitfaced he knows that isn’t an option, not when it’s essentially his party and that would make for some pretty bad press. So he continues to sip it slowly in between shaking countless hands and kissing a million cheeks. Some of these people he knows, some he doesn’t, and to be honest the only thing he knows is that he hates that bloody photo.

He hasn’t seen Harry in a while; he’s pretty sure he disappeared the second Louis’s mum and sister arrived and there are too many people for him to spot them easily. He’s really had enough of greeting people and he rather needs a piss, so he touches a member of the press team on the arm and asks if he can leave this for a bit. He gets a nod so he makes a straight beeline for the loos, eager to relieve himself. He has no intention of going back to greeting people, and he decides that after he’s pissed he’s going to go on a search for absolutely anyone he knows so he feels less like he’s just wondering around like a complete twat at his own party.

He waves at a few people on his way to the gents and shoulders his way in, then collides straight into the bloke coming out.

“Shit,” Louis hisses, but thankfully the guy laughs, straightens him, and then laughs even more when Louis does a double take. “Oh, fucking hell, it’s only you.”

“Missed you too,” Harry says with a smirk. “I was just gonna come and rescue you from your greeting duties, actually.”

“I ran away,” Louis tells him, nudging him back into the loos. He heads over to the urinals and unzips his trousers, then keeps talking as he starts to wee. “I can’t believe you didn’t come to rescue me earlier, to be honest.”

“Sorry,” Harry shrugs. He’s leaning against the huge fancy sinks and he doesn’t sound sorry at all. “Your mum’s drunk already, by the way.”

Louis groans. “Of course she is. I haven’t even said more than hello to her. Fuck going back to greeting.”

“Yeah, come and get drunk,” Harry says, stepping to the side so Louis can wash his hands. “Or at least come and have a drink. You look tense as anything, love.”

Louis groans and moves forward, using his still-damp hands to cup Harry’s neck. “I am tense. I feel like a proper fish out of water. And I fucking _hate_ that photo of me.”

Harry cackles. “I love that photo, babe. You look very handsome.”

“Handsome,” Louis echoes with a snort. “It makes me look _old._ ”

“It makes you look lovely and you know it,” Harry tuts. “Anyway, that drink. You’ll perk up after a pint and a chat with your mum, I reckon.”

“Yeah, probably,” Louis hums, sliding his hand down to settle it in Harry’s bigger one. He gives it a squeeze. “Your round, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Harry hums. “Let me treat my boy on his special day.”

They don’t even have to pay, as it turns out. Louis readily accepts his pint and chugs about a third of it almost straight away, silently praising his judgment for a good matte formula when he had his lipsticks made up. It barely smudges on the rim of his glass and he feels immensely proud.

He gives his welcoming speech shortly after, thanking everyone for coming and singling out a few important people, mainly Harry and Leigh. He can’t help but gush with compliments and by the end of it Harry looks like he’s about to cry. Everyone in the room raises their glass to him and he burns bright red, but he’s okay with that. He is wearing a lot of powder and he _has_ earned this, after all.

It’s a great party if he does say so himself. He catches up with old industry friends like Daisy, Cara and Annie, Dani and Jade, and Jeff and Glenne, and it’s just lovely. He even gets a bit teary-eyed himself when Victoria Beckham comes over and congratulates him personally, and somehow he ends up with a Spice Girl’s phone number and the vague promise of a lunchtime double date.

(He has to spend about ten minutes hyperventilating in Dani’s arms to recover from that one.)

He feels as if he barely has time to blink before people are being given goodie bags and making their way, congratulating him as they go. There are so many kind words and compliments thrown his way, from people he’s never met and his closest friends, and all he can think is _this is mine, I created this_ and _yeah, I could see myself doing this kind of thing again, and maybe a few more times after that._

That is, until his mum starts taking photos of Harry and the blown-up picture of him rather than photos of real life him and Harry.

Louis _really_ hates that fucking photo.

*

Louis’s worked behind the scenes for countless shoots over the years. He’s worked by himself and he’s worked with Dani, he’s worked in groups that are too big and groups that are too small. He’s worked with men and women and children, he’s worked with famous models and up-and-comers, but to this day he still loves working with Harry the most.

Harry likes to remind him that there was a time when he was reluctant to work with him. Louis likes to remind him that a, that was when he was adamant he wanted to establish himself in his role rather than just working with his partner, and b, he still doesn’t trust other people doing Harry’s make-up so _fuck_ what he said back then.

And anyway. Harry’s walking the runway for Alexander McQueen today and Louis would probably have a fit if someone else fucked this up.

“Fair enough,” is all Harry can muster as a response. He’s practically vibrating in his chair, and Louis’s grateful that for once he’s only doing Harry’s face because this needs to be perfect. He’s been planning this look for days, not that Harry’s been remotely interested or helpful. It’s not hard but it’s meticulous, and Harry’s clearly nervous so he’s bouncy and a bit clammy, which isn’t helping matters.

He almost resigns himself to doing Harry’s eyeshadow completely one-handed because Harry can’t seem to let go of him. It’s not easy, but Louis is a firm believer in the tough love approach in times like this, so he leans forward to kiss Harry carefully on the top of his head before he wiggles his hand away. Harry makes a disgruntled sound and blinks up at him a bit pathetically.

It’s not going to work.

“I love you very much,” he tells him, “but I’ll kick your ass from here to America if you keep blinking while I’m trying to blend.”

“Okay, I’m sorry,” Harry says, settling back against the chair with a raggedy sigh. He lets his eyes drop closed again. “Make me beautiful.”

Louis snorts and goes back to blending. “I suppose this is where I tell you you’re always beautiful to me?”

“Exactly,” Harry drawls. He’d almost sound cocky if Louis couldn’t hear the tremble in his voice, bless him. “Come on, Lou, tell me what I wanna hear.”

“No,” Louis says flatly, just to be a dick. He drops his eyeshadow brush onto the table and picks up a tube of mascara and smirks as Harry pales. “Lashes at the ready, babe, come on now.”

“Why?” Harry whines softly. Mascara’s been his least favourite bit for as long as Louis can remember. “Where are those false lashes you promised me?”

“If you sit nice and still I’ll give you a kiss,” Louis offers sweetly. Harry makes an indignant sound and Louis moves in to kiss him quiet anyway. “Two kisses,” he corrects against his lips. “Like a buy one get one free, if you will.”

“You’re a fuckhead,” Harry mumbles. It’s a weak comeback and they both know it, but Louis’s willing to let it slide when Harry’s this nervous. Louis rolls his eyes anyway and uncaps the mascara, taking Harry’s chin loosely with his spare hand so he can’t flinch backwards. “Lou, nooo!”

“Just because you suck my dick on a semi-regular basis doesn’t mean I’m going to give you any special treatment,” Louis sing-songs. “It’ll hurt less if you let me just get on with it, come on.”

“Why does it have to hurt at all?” Harry complains. He sighs and lets Louis apply it anyway, and it’s nice to not be rushed because mascara is often something he rushes through. He’s careful and level-handed, and as he dusts a final loose layer of powder over the tops of Harry’s cheekbones he gets an overwhelming rush of pride and pure love for his man.

“Hey,” he says, nudging Harry lightly. Harry turns and parts his lips, like he’s expecting Louis to paint them over with lipstick. But Louis shakes his head. “Hey, no, not now.” He fluffs Harry’s unstyled hair. “You’re gorgeous, you know.”

Harry laughs and nods briefly, then curls a hand around Louis’s wrist and tugs him so he’s stood in front of his chair. Louis pulls him upright and kisses him ever so gently, only a little smug at the way Harry grins against his lips.

“I’m going to get a big head,” Harry tells him with a faux-sternness that makes Louis tut. “Now move out of my way so I can get dressed in expensive clothes.”

Louis takes a step back and does a deep, exaggerated bow. “M’lady,” he says, letting Harry stroll past with a prim nod. It doesn’t stop him from smacking his bum though. “Knock ‘em dead, baby.”

“Always do!” Harry yells back, throwing a wink over his shoulder. With a snort and a shake of his head Louis heads back over to his make-up station and gathers up his brushes, carrying them over to the sink to be cleaned. He runs the hot water and he’s about to start singing to himself as he works when he hears his name being called and Harry jogging back.

“You didn’t do my lips,” he says with a cattish grin. “Why didn’t you do my lips, Lou?”

Louis squeaks and rushes forward to his vanity, heat prickling at the back of his neck. How could he forget lips? “Fuck,” he whines. “You distracted me, arsehole.”

Harry smirks. “I’m very sorry,” he says solemnly. “I’ll try very hard not to do it again.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Louis grumbles, pushing Harry back into the chair with perhaps a little more force than necessary and uncapping the lipstick he already had set aside on his table. Harry obediently opens his mouth and lets Louis paint his lips a mauve-purple colour. “Right, away with you, you demon. I have work to do.”

“I love you,” Harry sing-songs before he skips off, and Louis flips him off behind his back before he goes back over to the sink. He’s cursing under his breath but really he’s giddy, a bit in disbelief that Harry still makes him this daft even after all these years.

Countless shows and countless examples of teasing and poking and snogging when they shouldn’t, and even now they’re still just the same two dumb boys who fell in love.

Brushes washed and his own lippy reapplied, he packs away his things and pops them in Harry’s dressing room, then goes and stands in his usual spot backstage so he can watch the show undetected. For Harry’s bigger shows, or if his family attend, Louis will go and sit in the audience, but mostly he just likes to stand at the back and watch by himself, glowing a little in the knowledge that everyone in the room is watching Harry but Harry is _his._ It’s a great feeling and one that Louis still isn’t used to, even countless shows later.

He's been stood there for about ten minutes when an arm settles on his shoulder and he turns to find its Annie, grinning. “Hey,” she greets softly. “You look happy.”

Louis shrugs, light so as not to jostle her. “I am happy,” he replies. He can’t bring himself to take his eyes off Harry on the catwalk. “I feel good.”

“Good,” Annie answers. She sounds like she’s grinning. “You should feel good. The make-up you did on Cara was phenomenal.”

“Thank-you,” Louis says, tearing his eyes away to offer her a grateful smile. “Your girlfriend has a great face.”

Annie smirks. “Don’t I know it?”

The pair stand and watch the show in silence for a bit, focusing on the models coming and going rather than making conversation. When Harry reappears on the runway he’s wearing a mint green coat and maroon trousers, hair now fastened up in a bun. His expression is stony as it always is when he’s walking, yet he still manages to shoot the two of them a rather smug-looking wink before he strides down the catwalk. It makes Louis tremble, which is daft. They’re _married,_ for Christ’s sake.

“ _God,_ ” he groans out loud by accident. Annie snorts and he finds himself barrelling on without really meaning to. “Do you ever feel…” He cuts himself off abruptly and lets out an awkward breathy laugh. “This is gonna sound so gay, oh my god.”

Annie snorts again and nudges him. “Good thing you and me are gay as they come then,” she chuckles. “Come on, out with it.”

“It’s like,” Louis starts, still a bit baffled he’s even saying this out loud. “Do you ever just, like, look at someone and think _fuck, I couldn’t love you more if I tried?_ ”

Annie smiles serenely and rests her head against his shoulder. Louis feels his cheeks burn, but thankfully it subsides a bit when she finally replies.

“Yeah, I do,” she says softly, squeezing his arm. “We’ve got a lot to be proud of, you and me.”

Louis nods, just once, and turns back to look at Harry just as he disappears back behind the stage curtain. “It’s odd, isn’t it?” he murmurs, half to himself and half to Annie. “Realistically all they’re doing is walking but, like…” He shakes his head again, almost dislodging her from his shoulder. “I can’t explain it.”

Annie gives him another squeeze. “Maybe you don’t need to,” she says sagely. “What we do – what any of us lot do, really – we’re all part of this bizarre industry but we all work so fucking hard and sometimes it’s not enough but sometimes it is.” She pats his side. “I wouldn’t think about it too much, babe. Just be proud, of him and yourself.”

“Yeah,” Louis replies hoarsely, because if there’s one thing he can be it’s proud of Harry. “Yeah, alright.”

Louis doesn’t like to think much about the industry that they’re in. It’s hurt him and it’s hurt Harry, but it’s also brought them success and happiness beyond their wildest dreams. It’s a funny place to be and to work, and it’s even weirder to be known in, and Louis hates thinking about it too much because it often ends in an internal crisis that makes him feel like shit. He doesn’t think he’s ever going to be able to verbalise his relationship with the industry, but what he can admit to himself easily is that regardless of what the outside world thinks, he and his husband are both very happy, very much in love, and very proud.

“I’m gonna move backstage,” he whispers to Annie. “Wanna be the first person Harry sees when the lights go up.”

She smiles and drops her arms from his shoulders. “Off you go,” she says knowingly. “Tell him I thought he was fab as always.”

“Will do,” Louis promises, kissing her briefly on the cheek before he darts back into the backstage area and towards Harry’s dressing room.

He’s greeted with a kiss and a thank-you murmured against his tacky lips, then arms circle his waist and he finds himself pressed up against the dressing room wall.

“Love it when you watch me,” Harry hums, turning his head a little so he can pepper kisses up and down both Louis’s face and neck. “Love knowing you’re in the crowd more than anything.”

Louis kisses him soundly and grins, any fleeting worries or insecurities from his time with Annie flitting away the second Harry’s lips found his. “Yeah?” he answers, going for teasing but it comes out more as a moan. “Love it more than the walking itself, do you?”

“Love anything to do with you,” Harry grins, before taking Louis’s bottom lip between his teeth and tugging. “Happy anniversary, baby.”

“Happy anniversary to you, angel,” Louis mirrors, stepping closer to align the bodies as close as he can and holding Harry’s face in his hands. “Who’s driving, you or me?” He winks. “I have some very important plans for you and I’m not too sure your boss would appreciate lube stains on this nice velvet sofa.”

With a groan, Harry moves away and hurries to change. The pair stumble out, barely managing goodbyes or waves to anyone as they rush towards their car. It makes Louis feel like a teenager again, and for some reason that makes him smile even wider.

Once they arrive home, they tumble into bed together and map out each other’s bodies like they’ve done a thousand times before. They cuddle up, sweaty and exhausted, and reminisce and laugh and cry and hold one another and Louis _knows_ they should be networking at this after-party like Jeff asked but right now he doesn’t care. The only place he wants to be for the next week is naked and next to Harry, and that’s exactly what he intends to do.

It’s been a good ten years, and Louis is resolutely looking forward to many, many more.

 

*

**Five years later**

“Mila,” Louis begs, “please, little darling, will you stay still?”

“Hurts though,” Mila whines, kicking her foot weakly against the palm of Louis’s hand. “And these ones are ugly, Daddy.”

“Okay, fine,” Louis acquiesces with a sigh. “Do you want to try the red pair?”

She gives him a look. “You _know_ I do.”

Louis sighs again, but he obediently picks up the pair of little red boots and slides them onto Mila’s chubby feet. He hates to admit it, but they do fit her a lot better than the previous pairs he’s tried to put her in, and if the smug grin on her face is anything to go by Mila knows it too.

“Fine,” he relents. “These ones it is.”

“Yay!” she squeaks, clapping her hands happily before she darts forward to give him a quick kiss on the cheek. “Thank you, Daddy.”

“You’re welcome, little darling,” he says softly before he stands back up to his full height. “Right, come with Daddy while I pay for our things, okay?”

“’k,” she says, hopping to her feet and following him closely. She’s not always the easiest when they go out in public because she has her own ideas a lot of the time, and there have been occasions where Louis’s nearly wanted to rip his own hair out because she’s disappeared somewhere. But now she’s a little older – she just turned five three weeks before – she’s getting there, bless her. “Can we get chippies?”

“What’s the magic word?” Louis asks as he pops the shoes on the counter to pay. He tugs her closer, a hand resting protectively on her shoulder.

“Pweaseee,” she says, bouncing excitedly. When he looks down at her she’s puckering her lips, the dimple popping out on her cheek eerily similar to that of her Papa’s. “Pretty pwease, Daddy?”

Louis tuts and turns back to the cashier to pay, handing over his card as he shares a quick, knowing glance with the lady behind the counter. “If we must, we must,” he resigns, accepting the bag with a grin. “Thank you! Say thank you, Mila.”

“Thank you, nice lady,” Mila chirps, snatching up her Daddy’s hand and leading _him_ out the shop. She’s too clever and cocky for her own good sometimes, and Louis can’t work out which of her fathers she got that from. Both, probably. “Chippies!”

“Chippies,” Louis echoes. “But we can’t be long, little darling. We need to find you a dress.”

Mila stops walking and looks at him. “But I have a dress.”

“Your dress is pink,” Louis tells her. “Your shoes are now red, you little menace. So we need to get you a new dress.”

“But I like the pink one,” Mila says, eyeing him like he’s stupid. “I want to wear the pink one.”

“Mila,” Louis says carefully. “Mila, sweetheart, we need you to match.”

“But I want the pink dress,” Mila says, resolute. “I want to wear the pink dress, Daddy.”

“But they don’t go together,” Louis says, using his shoulder to open the door to a diner they’re passing. “And we need you to look perfect on Tuesday, darling.”

“But I looked really pretty in the pink dress,” Mila says, and Louis _knows_ that look. That’s her ‘I’m ten seconds off throwing a temper tantrum’ look. “Daddy! You and Papa both said I looked pretty in the pink dress!”

“We’ll talk about this in a minute,” Louis tells her sternly, turning to the waiter. “Hiya, table for two, please.”

“Certainly,” the waiter nods, leading them through to a little booth at the back. Louis pops his array of shopping bags on the floor under the table before he helps Mila up onto the glaring red upholstery, kissing the top of her head before he sits down himself.

He orders a Diet Coke for him and apple juice for Mila, and once the waiter’s disappeared off he opens the menu. “So you want something with chippies, yes?”

“Yes, Daddy,” she grumbles. “I want chippies now but I want to wear the pink dress more than I want chippies.”

“Oh, love,” he says, nudging her with his foot under the table. “Hey. Mila. Little darling. Look at me.”

She looks up, glaring. “What?”

“Mila,” he scolds. “Don’t be rude. Remember we’re doing this for Papa.”

“But Papa says I look like a princess in the pink dress,” she whines. “He _said,_ Daddy.”

“Okay,” Louis says, defeated. There’s nothing he hates more than fighting with his little girl. “We’ll have our chippies and then we’ll go home and talk to him, okay?”

“He’ll say I look like a princess,” says Mila, confident. “He _always_ says I look like a princess.”

Louis snorts. “You are a princess, baby girl. That’s why.”

Mila grins and grabs the menu from Louis, squinting at it and poking out her little tongue in concentration. She’s not a reader yet, but she points decisively at a meal on the page she’s been looking at and pushes the menu back towards her father. “I want that one.”

“That one, eh?” Louis turns the menu back around and snorts again. “You want oven baked salmon with potatoes and veg, do you?”

Mila’s face falls. “Oh,” she mumbles. “No. I thought it said cheeseburger and chippies.”

“Of course you did,” Louis laughs. “One cheeseburger and chippies coming right up.”

Their food comes relatively quickly given it’s a Saturday, and after they’re done Louis leads her back to the car and they drive back to their flat because all Mila can talk about is how Daddy will be proved wrong when Papa tells her she’s a princess. Louis mimics her and makes her laugh, deciding he doesn’t really care anymore because it’s Harry’s day and whatever Harry says, goes.

Plus they both secretly hate going shopping with her, partly because she’s such a deviant but also because she’s never satisfied. If she says she wants the pink dress and the red shoes then Louis’s inclined to give it to her on the basis that she’ll hopefully stop yelling now.

He’s not wrong, either. Harry’s like putty in Mila’s hands and he relents the second she throws herself at him.

“Daddy was really horrible to me,” she simpers, letting Harry pick her up even though she’s getting too big for that. She wraps her arms around Harry’s neck and tucks her face into his shoulder as Louis watches, eyebrows raised and hands on hips. “He said I wasn’t a princess.”

Louis gasps. “I said no such thing, Mila Felicity.”

Harry cocks his head to the side and smirks. “Now, why would your Daddy say that?” he asks, patting at Mila’s thick hair. “I’m sorry, love, but I don’t believe you.”

Now it’s Mila’s turn to gasp. “He said!” she says loudly, indignantly. “He said he didn’t want me to wear the pink dress for your show!”

“What?” Harry asks, turning back to Louis. “Did you say that?”

Louis sighs long-sufferingly. “What I _said_ was that because the only shoes Mila would let me buy for her were red we might have to look for another dress. That’s all. I never said she couldn’t wear it.”

“Papa, why can’t I wear the pink dress and red shoes?” Mila whines. “The shoes are princess shoes!”

Harry shoots daggers at Louis before he sets his daughter down and says, “show me them.”

“You’re a b-word,” Louis tells him hotly, but he obediently digs the shoes out the carrier bag and hands the box over. Harry ignores him and digs through the layers of elaborate crete paper, humming as he hoicks them out.

“Oh, these are lovely,” he says approvingly, popping the box on the table next to him and turning them over in his hand. Mila lets out a triumphant yell and starts jumping excitedly on the spot. “No, these could work, Lou. You know her big red hair bow? That’ll bring it all together nicely.”

“See?” Mila drawls. “I knew Papa would let me be a princess.”

“Mila,” Harry says, beckoning her back to him. “But you need to apologise to your Daddy because you sound not very nice right now. You don’t want your Daddy’s feelings to be hurt.”

In seconds Louis has an armful of little girl, and he too scoops her up and balances her awkwardly on his hip while she squeezes him tight. “Sorry, Daddy, I didn’t mean it.”

“I know, honey,” he says knowingly. “It’s okay. You’re always a princess to me.”

“Thanks,” she says, then presses a little kiss onto the corner of his mouth. “Can I watch Tangled?”

“Okay,” Louis nods. “Do you remember how to set it up?”

Mila nods. “Yeah,” she says. “Can I have a snack too please?”

“I’ll chop you up some fruit,” Harry tells her. “Go on, off you go, you little terror.”

“I love you, Papa,” she shrills as she scampers out the room. “And you, Daddy!”

Louis snorts as she goes, then turns to give Harry a look. “You absolute _bastard._ ”

“Language,” Harry reminds him playfully, making his way over to him and pressing a quick kiss onto his mouth. Louis tugs him back by the wrist and he kisses him again, then stamps on his toe. “ _Fucker._ ”

“Language,” Louis parrots in a high-pitched voice that sounds nothing like his husband. He sighs then pulls Harry back into a hug. “Shopping with her is _exhausting._ It’s your turn next time.”

Harry groans. “What do you mean, next time? What else does she need?”

“Nothing,” Louis moans. “Nothing ever again.”

“Papa, where’s my snack?” Mila’s voice hollers from the next room.

“You were wrong, she needs fruit,” Harry groans. “Mila, what’s the magic word?”

“Please,” she screeches. “Fruit please!”

 _She’s a terror,_ Louis thinks as he watches his husband stride through to the kitchen. He thinks about following, but next thing he knows Mila’s yelling for him too.

“Daddy? Daddy, can you fix it?”

“What have you done?” he asks her, poking his head through the doorway. She looks exceedingly guilty, but really all she’s done is accidentally untie one of her pigtails.

“Sorry,” she mumbles. Louis shakes his head and scoops her up into his lap. He settles against the back of the sofa comfortably and takes the hair bobble from her, brushing out the hair with his fingers.

“S’okay, sweetheart,” he says. “Do you want it done again or do you just want to take the other one out?”

She shrugs. “Out, I think.”

Louis nods and deftly undoes the other, letting her hair settle down her back. She smells like her favourite pomegranate shampoo and Louis cuddles her in and presses play on the DVD menu.

“Pretty soon you’ll have hair as long as Rapunzel’s,” he tells her. “Is that what you want, little darling?”

She giggles. “No, Daddy, I’d look silly.”

“You’d look like a princess,” he hums, shifting up a little so Harry can sit down next to them. “Wouldn’t she, Papa? If Mila had hair as long as Rapunzel?”

“Oh, yes, she definitely would,” Harry grins. He hands her over a big plastic bowl full of strawberries, grapes, and apples and Mila accepts it greedily. “Oh, wait a second. What do we say, Mila?”

“Fank coob,” Mila says, already slurping a grape into her mouth.

They settle down on their sofa, Mila under Louis’s arm and Louis under Harry’s arm, warm and content and very domestic. Louis can very well see himself dropping off to sleep like this, but this is Mila’s favourite film and she knows a lot of the lines off by heart, so every time he’s about to doze she screams one out excitedly.

Staying awake is a very small price to pay.

There was a time, once, when Harry had finally said ‘I’m ready for kids’ to Louis and they’d signed on to an adoption agency within a week that Louis thought he wouldn’t love a child more than he loved his little siblings. He thought the love he’d feel for his little one would be like that, that warm, fuzzy feeling starting from birth and only getting stronger as they grew up, grew into their own people.

Louis was dreadfully wrong.

Originally the pair had said they wanted a newborn, a baby they could raise completely and wholly as their own. They would see first steps, first words, first everythings, and have them all documented on camera and written in one of the hundreds of baby books Harry ordered from Amazon. They had it all planned out – they had a nursey designed, baby clothes and toys and car seats all purchased, a kitchen cupboard filled with formula – until Mila’s arrival put a spanner in the works.

The call came on a Sunday.

_We’ve got a little girl here we are desperate to get adopted as soon as possible._

_We know you wanted a newborn but we think she’s perfect for you._

_She never had a mother and her father died about a week ago. Drug overdose._

_There are signs of neglect and abuse. She’s the kind of child we really don’t want to put into the system long term if we don’t have to._

_She needs parents who will love her unconditionally._

_Would you like to meet her?_

When the agent had explained the situation to the pair Harry had practically dragged Louis out the flat then and there. He’d driven like a madman across London, and even though Louis wanted to calm him down he didn’t know _how,_ not when his own pulse was raising at eighty miles an hour. They’d barely said ten words to each other since the phone call yet they both knew that they were bringing this little girl home with them. There was no way they weren’t.

“Harry,” Louis tried to say. “Harry, we need to…”

“Yes,” Harry cut in, knuckles turning white from how hard he was gripping the steering wheel. “I don’t… _Lou._ Louis, I…”

“Hey, hey,” Louis said, resting a hand on Harry’s thigh. “I know, love. I get it.”

Harry didn’t say anything else, he just nodded. They spent the rest of the drive in silence and by the time they were there Louis was feeling jumpier than he ever had in his life. He snatched Harry’s hand and the pair shared a knowing look before they went inside, hands trembling between them.

They had a quick meeting with her social worker before they got to meet her, just a little more information on her situation and her temperament. They were told that she has nightmares fairly regularly, she’s been crying on and off since she arrived, and if they get on with one another and it seems like they’ll make a good family then they might be able to bring her home within a fortnight.

The pair agreed.

“Would you like to meet Mila then?” the social worker asked. “Not for long because it’s quite late, but we thought you’d want to share a snack with her, see if you can get her to talk.”

“She’s not talking?” Harry questioned. His grip on Louis’s hand had tightened. “How… is she nervous or…?”

The social worker pulled a face. “We don’t know the extent of the abuse, not really. We don’t think it turned sexual but she had a number of bruises and finger marks on her when she arrived. She hasn’t said much about them but then she doesn’t really like people approaching her."

Louis nodded tightly, his eyes dropping closed for a couple of seconds because his heart just broke and he hasn’t even met this girl yet. “We’ll be careful,” he promised. “Can we meet her?”

The social worker nodded and moved past them to open the door, stepping through first. Louis followed first, still holding Harry’s hand loosely in his, and bit his lip as he took in the sight of his little girl for the first time.

She was barely three back then, but she still had lots of long, dark hair, though it looked in desperate need of a trim. She was wearing a little pink fleece and ill-fitting leggings, Peppa Pig socks on her feet. Her thumb was wedged in her mouth, and the way she’d jumped when the door had opened was enough to break Louis’s heart all over again.

“Mila?” the social worker said, voice soft and careful. “Mila, this is Louis and this is Harry. They want to meet you and maybe talk to you a little bit.”

Louis dropped Harry’s hand and bent down carefully to her height, careful not to get too close without her permission. The last thing he ever wanted to do was spook this child, not when she’s already been through more than enough in her three short years.

“Mila?” he said gently, questioning. “That’s a pretty name for a pretty girl.” He swallowed nervously but didn’t miss the way her thumb jolted a bit. “My name’s Louis, darling.” He then took a pointed glance at her socks. “Do you love Peppa Pig?” Mila was hesitant but after a few tense seconds Louis got a nod in response. “I love Peppa Pig too. My favourite character is Mr. Wolf, who’s yours?”

“Peppa,” Mila mumbled, and Louis forced himself not to react too much with joy. He didn’t miss Harry’s little gasp though. “I like Peppa.”

“Peppa is great,” Louis told her. “My second favourite. Hey, Mila, do you want a snack?”

Still clearly very reserved, Mila had glanced up at the social worker before she nodded at Louis. Louis grinned and gently beckoned her forward, and for the next couple of hours the three of them had sat around a little table, drinking watery squash and nibbling Jammy Dodgers.

Louis still remembers the first time he heard her laugh – Harry had gotten up to go to the loo and caught his leg on the chair, nearly tumbling right to the floor. Louis’s immediate panic is that the loud noise would be too much for her but instead she’d let out a startled bark of laughter; it was high, bright, and the most beautiful sound Louis’s ever heard to this day.

They signed the papers that night and they’d been able to bring her home two and a half weeks later.

Whenever he thinks about Mila’s past, Louis wants to fight a lot of people. His beautiful little girl seems to have mostly forgotten it on the surface but there are still nights where she wakes up crying and kicking at something that isn’t there. There are still times where a loud noise will make her jump a little too hard and then she’ll burst into scared, noisy sobs, and she’s still not good with strangers or in busy places. She’s getting better though, and Louis doesn’t doubt that one day she’ll conquer her demons. She’s the strongest person he’s ever known.

He kisses the top of her head then and there because he adores her more than he can say. Their little family is small but perfect, and even though he and Harry would both love to add to it someday they both agree that now isn’t the right time. Someday, though, Louis will get his little football player and then they’ll probably have another one for good measure. Their future looks bright, if a little busy.

Louis turns his head to look at his husband, still as handsome as he was when Louis met him all those years ago, and they share a brief, sweet kiss that makes Louis grin. He rests his head on Harry’s shoulder, tightens his arm around Mila, and bathes happily in his weekend of domestic bliss.

*

Even after all these years, Louis’s still a little bit bitter towards London Fashion Week.

Luckily he’s only in the audience this year, but it doesn’t stop him from glaring menacingly at the familiar surroundings. He tries not to dwell, because today isn’t about his past fuck-ups, it’s about the fact that his husband is about to debut his clothing line on this catwalk in front of the entire fashion world.

No big deal.

HIStory has been Harry’s other baby for the past few years now, the brainchild of _Niall_ of all people. He’d joked one night that now Louis has his own line maybe Harry should create one too, and from there it’s just snowballed. It was by no means an overnight project and it had meant innumerable sleepless nights and frustrated mood swings and business trips away for longer than they both would have liked, but it’s finally here. Louis’s been there through the choosing of the fabrics, the countless colour wheels, the measuring and the pinning and the watching it come to life before their eyes, and he’s so fucking stunned at the finished creations. Everything he’s seen has been nothing short of incredible.

As far as Louis’s aware he’s debuting six suits, six casual outfits, and six coats. He’s picked all his models himself, but he’s also going to be walking it. Louis’s so proud of his confidence (and slight arrogance, because at least Harry _knows_ nobody will wear it better than he will). The suit he’s wearing is golden and sports a geometric pattern, and with a crisp black undershirt underneath Louis knows he’s going to steal that show.

They arrive early but they’re not allowed backstage, and Louis’s surprisingly okay with that. Mila’s a little jumpy, bless her, so Louis’s been more focused on her than he has on anyone or anything else. She’s been nervous ever since Louis helped her into her pink dress and her red shoes, worried she didn’t look enough like a princess for her Papa’s big day, and Louis half-wishes Harry hadn’t disappeared that morning at the arsecrack of dawn so he could have assured her of that.

There are a few people she’s okay with – Grandma, Gemma, and Grandpa Robin are also here, as are Lottie, Dani and Jade, Jeff and Glenne and the rest of their friendship group. Perrie’s always been Mila’s favourite so Louis lets her go to her for a bit, using the time to chat to Anne.

“How’s she been?” she asks him with a soft smile. She doesn’t live close enough to see her as often as they’d all like, but she’s been nothing short of wonderful whenever she’s been around and Mila warmed to her faster than most.

“A little jittery,” Louis shrugs. “I think she’ll be better when she sees her Papa though. You know they both have separation anxiety.”

Anne chuckles. “And how are you, Louis, darling?” She cocks her head. “As nervous as my son? Or more nervous?”

“More nervous, probably,” Louis titters. “I just… I can’t get my head around that today’s the day, you know? I’m just over the moon proud of him but my heart is going like _badum badum badum._ ”

“Bless you,” Anne says fondly. Louis opens his mouth to respond but before he can he feels a little hand tugging at his leg, vying for his attention.

“What is it, little darling?”

“S’loud,” Mila mumbles, her bottom lip jutting out. She sniffs. “I miss Papa.”

“Come here,” Louis coaxes, guiding her forward so she’s stood in front of him. He carefully bends down so he’s her height and brushes her hair over her shoulders. “Are you okay? Do you need a wee wee or anything?”

Mila shakes her head, rubbing at her eye. “No. But I want Papa. I wanna go home.”

“Darling, we can’t,” he says gently. “Your Papa needs our support today and it’d make him very sad if we went home. So we need to stay, sweetheart, I’m so sorry. But we’ll see your Papa soon enough.”

“I want him now,” Mila wails, stamping her foot. Louis catches a couple of tears on his thumb and hurries to wipe them again. “Daddy, I don’t like it. Where is he?”

Louis harrumphs and stands back up, clutching Mila’s hand tightly in his. “I’m gonna call Harry,” he tells Anne. “And if we can’t see him then we’ll take our seats. She might be a little better once we’re sitting down.”

Anne nods and moves to bundle Mila into her arms while Louis pulls his phone out and speed-dials Harry. Harry doesn’t pick up the first time he calls, but he picks up the second, sounding flustered. “Babe?”

“Hazza,” Louis sighs in relief. “I know they said we’re not allowed backstage but I think your daughter needs you. Sorry.”

“Wha… don’t apologise for that,” Harry tells him. “Are there too many people?”

“Yeah,” Louis says, pulling a face. “She’s asking for you. I think she’ll be fine when the three of us are together for a bit but…”

“No, yeah, course you can come back,” Harry says. “We have a little time. I’ll meet you at the front.”

“I love you,” Louis says very seriously.

“You too,” Harry says. It sounds like he’s smiling. “Come on then. Bring me my baby.”

“I’m coming,” Louis sing-songs sweetly before hanging up. Harry sounded a lot less nervous than he expected, which makes him feel a little better by association. “Mila, darling? Come on, let’s go see Papa.”

“Really?” she asks, voice small and expectant. Louis nods and reaches for her hand again. “Okay.”

Hand in hand, the pair trot through the huge atrium and through the corridors that lead them to backstage. There’s still about forty five minutes before the show starts but Louis is under no illusion that they have anywhere near that much time so he hurries them on until they reach the familiar door to backstage.

He opens the door just enough to spot Harry, who hurries over and mutters a quick few words to a concerned looking security guard on the other side. He gets a curt nod as permission, so he opens the door all the way and lets Mila barrel away from him and into Harry’s unsuspecting middle.

“Hey, lovely,” Harry coos, scooping her up easily and tucking her into his side. He’s not wearing shoes, just a plain black t-shirt and Adidas shorts, looking remarkably out of place for a supermodel at Fashion Week. He’s had his hair and make-up done, Louis notes, his hair looking a little more trimmed and blown out than it did that morning. His make-up makes Louis cringe – it’s not even _bad,_ Louis thinks bitterly, _it’s just not how I would have done it_ – but aside from that he looks utterly dazzling.

“Hi,” Louis says, and tucks himself carefully into Harry’s other side. “How are you holding up?”

“Um,” Harry says, licking his lips. “Better now I’ve got you guys here.”

“Papa, I don’t like it,” Mila mumbles sadly, pulling back enough so her dads can see her disgruntled pout. “It’s loud and scary here.”

“It is?” Harry asks sadly, cocking his head to one side. “Oh, pudding, I’m sorry.”

“There are a lot of people,” Louis says, cringing. It sucks because he knows having loads of people here is an amazing opportunity for Harry, but there’s a selfish paternal part of him that’s not okay with it. “After this I might just take our seats.”

“Yeah, no worries,” Harry nods. “Obviously I want you two in the audience more than anyone else but I’ll understand if you want to wait in the car or something.”

“Fuck off,” Louis says, then slaps a hand over his mouth. Mila lets out a startled gasp and Harry snorts into her shoulder. He’s a terrible parent. “I… I mean, no. No, we’re not gonna do that. Are we, Mila?”

Mila looks hesitant, shoving her thumb into her mouth and fisting her other hand tighter into Harry’s top. “No?” she says, and it comes out like a question.

“Mila, honey,” Harry says, setting her down carefully. He coaxes her thumb out her mouth and then takes hold of both her hands, swinging them gently. “I know you don’t like it, I know, but today is really important to Papa, okay? And I want you there more than anything, little princess. I want you to be there for me.”

“Yeah,” Mila sniffs. “Sorry, Papa.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Harry says. “Baby, I love you very much a lot. And I know there are lots of people but Daddy will be with you the whole time. He’ll keep you safe and if you don’t like it then tell him for me, okay?”

“Yeah,” Mila says again. Her bottom lip starts to tremble and Louis crouches down just in time to catch her, before she starts properly weeping. “Daddy, I’m sorry!”

“Oh, hey, no, little princess, no,” Louis promises, cradling her to his chest. One glance up at Harry has him kneeling down too, wrapping his longer arms around the pair of them. They must look a right bloody sight but Louis doesn’t care, not when his little girl is this upset. “We aren’t angry at you, darling.”

Mila snuffles into Louis’s shoulder, probably getting his Balmain blazer all snotty. “Promise?” she questions carefully. “I want – _hiccup –_ I don’t wanna make Papa sad.”

“I’m not sad,” Harry chimes, kissing her cheek. “I’ll be very sad if my princess is sad though. Please don’t cry, dove.”

Mila nods a couple of times before he moves from Louis’s arms back to Harry’s. The two share a long, tight hug and Louis watches, chest tight with something warm. Eventually Mila’s sobs subside and she takes a step back, putting her hands on her hips.

“Papa, I think you creased my dress,” she says sternly. “I can’t be a princess in a creased dress!”

Louis barks a laugh and Harry shoots him something of a disbelieving glare before turning back to his daughter. “I am very sorry,” he says, pretending to bow for her. “I’ll have the servants see to you immediately.” He smirks over to Louis. “Babe, do you want to sort her out?”

“I’ll sort you out, you git,” Louis mutters under his breath. He leans forward to give Harry a quick kiss. “We best get out of your hair. Can’t go down the catwalk looking like that now, can you?”

“I can do whatever I please, it’s my show,” Harry says. He steals another kiss before turning back to Mila. “Hey, darling. Are you okay now?”

“Better,” she nods. “I… I want to stay, Papa.” She turns to Louis. “Are we staying?” Louis nods and she rubs at her nose. “Will you, um, hold my hand?”

“Of course,” Louis says, and takes it in his right there for her. “Hey, say goodbye to your Papa again now. We’ll see him again soon.”

“Bye, Papa,” Mila says, flashing him a smile at long last. “Be good.”

Harry snorts and strokes over her hair fondly. “Surely I should be telling you that.”

“No, you should be telling _Daddy_ that,” she says knowingly. “He’s the one who said the bad word.”

Louis groans. “Right, come on then, trouble.” He rests his free hand on Harry’s hip, thumbing over it lightly. “Make me proud, babe.”

“I will,” Harry calls after them, waving at Mila and winking at Louis. “I love you!”

With a grin so wide it’s almost painful Louis leads Mila out of there and back towards their family and friends. He smiles politely at industry acquaintances and accepts a flute of free champagne as they head towards the main stage, finding their front row seats with little trouble. He gets Mila a juice box and sits her comfortably between himself and her uncle Liam, and as she babbles away to him about Disney he allows himself a sip of champagne and a little bit of time to relax before the show begins.

*

The applause is deafening, the bass of the Nicki Minaj track is pulsing through his veins, and the lights are so bright that Harry has to squint to make out the faces in the audience. Luckily for him, he knows exactly where his two favourite people in the crowd are and he moves forward enough so he can see them.

Mila’s clapping away enthusiastically, balancing precariously on her chair. Thankfully, Louis has an arm around the backs of her thighs, and it’s the kind of move he’d only pull when Harry isn’t there to tell him off, but right now Harry doesn’t care. The look on both their faces is all the thanks Harry needs.

As much as he wants to gaze at his family, he does still have a job to do so he beckons everyone forward. His other five models glide forward easily and Harry winds his arms around the shoulders of the two closest, coaxing them into a proud bow. The applause hasn’t stopped, and as they bow a second time the deafening cheers start up. Harry’s heart feels like it could burst with it all. He’s almost unbearably hot, his skin burning an unattractive shade of pink, yet he wouldn’t change a single thing about this.

A third bow and they’re done, the group breaking apart and waving to the crowd happily. It’s a lot more relaxed than any other show Harry’s walked before and he loves it. This is what he’s always envisioned his show to be like – iconic, breath-taking, but with a little extra something that didn’t make it feel as stuffy and claustrophobic as some of the other’s he’s walked.

Suddenly there’s a microphone being handed to him and the applause softens, dying down to a gentle murmuring. Harry’s eyes go wide in realisation and he clears his throat awkwardly before he says, “um, hi?”

There’s a little chuckle around the room and he can’t help but laugh at himself, always looking a tit because he’s two seconds behind.

“I’ll keep this short because otherwise I’ll be here for quite literally hours. There’s so much I want to say but you can all probably guess the gist of it. There’s free champagne out there and far be it for me to keep you folk from your alcohol.” There’s another ripple of laughter and he takes a deep breath before he barrels on.

“This, um, today was a dream come true for me,” he rasps. “I remember when I was twenty, you know, and I first got asked if I wanted to model and I thought ‘yeah, why not?’ And back then I thought this was just going to be a passing fashion – no pun intended, whoops – for me but it’s… it’s my life now and this…” He gestures around himself, biting his lip to stop himself from getting choked up. “This whole thing here is unfathomable. It’s beyond even my wildest dreams so I want to say thank you to each and every one of you who made this possible. To the models, the designers, the sound crew and the tailors and my friends and family and Jeff, obviously, for working out how the hell I, Harry Styles the bumbling geography graduate from Holmes Chapel, could pull this stunt off.”

He clears his throat again. “But my biggest thanks goes to the two bright stars sitting on the front row there.” His grin grows ever wider. “Louis, thank you for finding me, for keeping me, for loving me.” He chuckles wetly. “Thank you for being my home.” He doesn’t miss the way Louis wipes at his own eyes, shaking his head disbelievingly. He’s probably going to get a right earful (and hopefully more) when he gets offstage. “And to my perfect princess Mila, my biggest fan. I love you more than anything, darling. You’ve made Papa very happy.”

He shrugs his shoulders and scratches at the back of his neck. “Thanks for coming. All the love.”

He hands the mic back to the techy bloke who’d handed it to him in the first place and without even thinking jumps off the front of the stage, eager to get to his family and share this moment with them. Louis meets him halfway and kisses him stupid, a snog that’s definitely too much for their current surroundings. Harry has no idea how many photographers are in the room, but he doesn’t care either.

“Arsehole,” Louis mumbles against his lips. “You ruined my eyeliner, dickhead. I love you so much.”

“Love you too,” Harry breathes. “Thank you.”

“Stop being so sappy, you’ll fuck my make-up up even more,” Louis says, pinching his hip. “Now, go on. Go to your daughter.”

Harry breaks away just in time to catch his little princess in his arms, her laughing face coming right into his middle and her arms wrapping around his legs. Harry scoops her up and carries her back over to Louis, and when they hug it’s like they’re the only three in the room – in the whole world, even.

Both of them have everything they’ve ever dreamed of, but all they ever need is this little girl right here.

And that’s everything in itself.

 

**FIN**

 


End file.
